


Between The Lines

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clexa Week 2020, F/F, Fictional Religion & Theology, Forbidden Love, Friendship, Homophobia, Reading, Religious Cults, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22974595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: One of Clarke's favorite things about summer vacation is getting to spend as much time as she wants reading.  Every year she rereads her favorite series, even though she should probably have outgrown them by now.  One day she accidentally leaves her favorite book under a tree, and when she goes back to look for it in the morning, it's gone.---Lexa has always lived under the thumb of her father, Titus, the leader of a religious sect that eschews modern technology, the outside world, and any way of thinking that doesn't come from their holy book.  Girls are only taught to read enough to parse passages of scripture... but Lexa wants more.  When an escaped calf leads her onto a neighbor's property, she finds a book sitting under a tree.  On impulse, she picks up it and hides it, staying up all night to read.  She sneaks out the next morning to return it.---Still moping over the loss of her favorite book the next day, Clarke is shocked to discover the book is right where she left it, and she thinks she might be losing her mind... until she discovers a note inside.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 353
Kudos: 581
Collections: Clexaweek2020





	1. Chapter 1

It started with a book. 

Not just any book. Clarke's _favorite_ book. The book she read and reread and re-reread until it was falling apart and her father bought her a new copy which she kept in pristine condition on her shelf even after the second time she had to tape the binding of the original back together. It was the first in a series, and the rest of the books were almost as good, but not quite. Nothing could top the magic of the first time she met the characters who were closer to her than some of the people she called friends... even the fiftieth time she met them for the first time. 

She was too old for them now, she knew; they were meant for kids years younger. But she would keep reading as long as the author kept writing, and she didn't care what anyone had to say about it. 

Except that wasn't entirely true. She _did_ care what the kids at school had to say, even though she wished she didn't, and had stopped bringing them for free reading time or when she ran out of other things to do in study hall. Now she mostly saved them for the summer, when there was no one around to tease her and call her a baby. 

She had a little nook where she liked to read on lazy summer days, a little copse of apple trees that might once have been part of someone's orchard, but the property lines had been redrawn so many times as people came and went and split up old farms into smaller pieces of property that it was hard to say. Clarke just liked it for the shade and the quiet. 

"Clarke!" 

Her mother's voice, raised to a pitch that carried across their giant back yard, summoning her home for dinner. Except it was too early, and there was a note in her voice that set Clarke's nerves on edge, and she picked herself up and ran. She crashed through the back door a few minutes later, out of breath and sweat beading on her temples and rolling down her back. "What?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"I have to go in to work," her mother said. 

"Oh," Clarke said. If she'd been an animal, her hackles would have risen, because it wasn't a _real_ emergency. Not for her, anyway. If her mom was being called in unexpectedly, it probably was for someone else, but—

She stopped herself, realizing how ungrateful she sounded. From Mom's expression, she hadn't been able to keep her feelings off her face. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I was just reading." 

"I know, sweetie," Mom said, "and I'm sorry to interrupt, but I've already put dinner in the oven and I don't want it left unattended. You'll have to finish it without me. Your dad will be home soon." 

"Couldn't you just—" Clarke started, then shut her mouth again. "Okay."

"When the timer goes off, put the bread in. When the second timer goes off, take everything out."

"I _know_ ," Clarke said. "I'm not—"

"A baby," her mother finished for her. She pressed a kiss to Clarke's head. "I'll probably be late," she said. "Tell Dad not to wait up."

Clarke snorted. "Like he'll listen. He'll fall asleep on the couch—"

"—like he always does," Mom finished with her. "You're right. Be good. Don't stay up too late."

"Who cares?" Clarke asked. "It's summer vacation."

" _I_ care," Mom said, wagging a finger at her then poking the tip of her nose, and Clarke rolled her eyes. 

"Bye Mom," she said. 

"Bye, Clarke," Mom said, and then she was gone out the door, leaving Clarke to make the salad while the lasagna and garlic bread finished cooking. 

Her dad got home just as she was taking everything out of the oven, and he picked her up and swung her around, grunting as he set her down again. "When did you get so big?" he asked. "Have you grown since I left this morning?" 

Clarke rolled her eyes again and stuck out her tongue. "You say that every time," she said. "You know you're probably the most predictable man on the entire planet?" 

"What can I say? Men are simple creatures. What do you say we get out the TV trays and eat on the couch? We can watch one of your gross medical shows if you want to. Just don't tell your mom." 

It was their tradition every time it was just the two of them for dinner, which happened more often now that one of Mom's coworkers was on maternity leave and she was on call more often than not. They didn't exactly live in the middle of nowhere, but they were kind of on the edge of it, and there weren't too many other doctors in the area to call on when something happened. 

"Nah," Clarke said. "To the medical show. We should watch Firefly."

"Again?" Dad asked. 

"Again," Clarke agreed, and they grinned at each other. Clarke put food on plates while Dad queued up the show, and they did their best not to recite the lines along with the actors... but sometimes the temptation proved too great, even when it meant mumbling the words around full mouths. 

It wasn't until she was getting ready for bed that she realized she didn't have her book. She'd left it outside, and it was dark and she wasn't _afraid_ of the dark, exactly, but...

"You can look for it in the morning," Dad said, when she asked if he would go out with a flashlight to retrieve it. "Anyway, you have another copy..." 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Clarke said, doing her best to look innocent. "What if it rains though? It could get ruined!" 

"It's not supposed to rain," Dad said. "It'll be fine."

"What about dew?"

"Clarke, I'm not going out there and neither are you. That's my final answer." 

Clarke huffed and sighed and pouted, but he didn't relent, and finally she just grabbed the second book off the shelf to fall asleep to. In the morning she didn't bother getting dressed, just ran out in her pajamas to retrieve her most prized possession, afraid of the state she might find it in...

... only to not find it at all. 

She went back home, tearing apart her room and the living room and anywhere else it might have been, but it was nowhere to be found. She blinked hard against the tears that burned her eyes, because it was silly to cry over something she wouldn't even need to replace, but that copy was _special_ , and losing it was like losing a friend, or maybe a pet. (She didn't know for sure, because she'd never been allowed to have a pet. Her mom claimed allergies, but Clarke thought she just didn't want the trouble of having to look after another living thing.) 

She spent the day indoors, watching TV because she couldn't bear to open any of the books at the moment, as if the characters would know about her carelessness and turn their backs on her. It was ridiculous and she knew it, but it was going to take time for her head to convince her heart. 

The next day both her parents were home, and she had to escape the house before they thought of extra chores for her to do to stop her moping around. She went out to the trees with another book – a new one she'd gotten on her last trip to the library – and was about to settle down when she saw her book there, propped against one of the trees' trunk. 

"How...?" She picked it up, turning it over and inspecting it for damage that hadn't been there before. How had she missed it when she looked for it yesterday? It had been right in plain sight! Was she going blind? She squinted, closing one eye then the other, but everything was in perfect focus. Was she just losing her mind? 

It was only when she gingerly flipped through the pages that she noticed something amiss. There, on the scrap of paper she'd used as a bookmark, in painstaking but childish scrawl, was a question: 'Is their more?'

Clarke's heart leapt in her chest, knocking against her ribcage as she read the words over and over again. They were proof that she wasn't going crazy; she _had_ left the book here, and someone had found it and taken it and brought it back, wanting to know if there was more to the story, if the girls in the book had further adventures, or if the safe return of the dragon's egg to the wizard was the end. 

But _who_? There were no other kids living anywhere nearby. That corner of their property bordered on a giant field that, as far as Clarke had ever seen, was empty. She thought it might belong to one of the religious folk Mom sometimes complained about because they eschewed modern medicine until something got so bad they couldn't handle it on their own, and then she had to try to pick up the pieces, often with little – or no – success. But she'd never seen a person out there, or animals either, so she didn't know for sure.

She intended to find out. 

She ran back to the house and tucked her beloved book back into its place on the shelf, then grabbed the second book from where she'd discarded it on her nightstand. She found a piece of paper and carefully wrote a response:

_Thank you for bringing my book back. This is the next book in the series. So far there are nine books. There's going to be a tenth, but it feels like we've been waiting forever. I hope you enjoy it. Maybe we can meet and talk about it when you're done?_

_Sincerely,_  
_Your friend_  
_Clarke_

She was halfway across the yard when she realized she didn't know when the mysterious reader might come back. Not wanting anything to happen to her book, she turned back and took a plastic bag from the kitchen, carefully sealing the book inside it before returning to her little hideaway. She left the book exactly where the first one had been and waited.

And waited.

And waited. 

No one ever came, and eventually Clarke's stomach's protests got loud enough she couldn't ignore them anymore. She went home for lunch, returning immediately after, but the book was still sitting there, taunting her with its presence. She couldn't stand the thought of spending the whole afternoon just sitting, especially since Wells had invited her and some of their other friends over to swim, so she left it where it was, resolving to check on it after dinner.

But then Wells' dad ordered them pizza, and they all stayed until it was dark and nearly bedtime. Clarke would have braved the dark (with a flashlight, of course, she wasn't _crazy_ ) but her parents had other ideas. She showered the chlorine off her skin and collapsed into bed.

She didn't get back to check on the book until the next afternoon, and she let out a frustrated huff when she saw the plastic bag still there, pinned under a rock, but the book was gone. She'd missed them, whoever they were, and now she would have to wait again. 

The book didn't come back for almost a week, and every day Clarke got more frustrated. She tried to be patient, but the book wasn't _that_ long. She could read it in an afternoon, if she wasn't interrupted. What was taking them so long? She checked at all times of day (and would have checked at night, if her parents had allowed it, and to hell with whatever might be lurking out there in the shadows) but never saw anyone.

On the sixth day, the book reappeared, tuck back into the dew-covered baggie and carefully sealed. Clarke tore it open, looking for a note, sure there had to be one. 

She wasn't disappointed... until she read it.

_Clarke._

_Thank you. I like this one alot._

_We can never meat. Sorry._

There was no name, and it was in that same careful printing that looked like Clarke had used to write when she was in kindergarten and just learning. Was the book thief – only not a thief because they brought the books back – someone much younger than her? That might explain why it took them so long to read... but the first book hadn't taken long. 

She left the third book, and another note:

_Why can't we meet? It seems only fair, with me being your own personal librarian. Here's the next book. It's one of my favorites._

_Your friend,_  
_Clarke_

This time she only had to wait three days, but they were some of the longest days of her life. 

_Life isnt fair. I dont like the King. Hes only pertending too be good._

_Thank you for being my friend, Clarke._

Clarke's eyes traced over the words, and then her fingers. Life _wasn't_ fair – her mother told her that every time she complained that something wasn't – but she'd also taught her that it was their duty to try to make it as fair as it could be. But how could she make life fair for this kid – and with the spelling errors it had to be a kid, didn't it? – if she didn't even know who they were?

And now she _really_ wanted to talk to them, because how had they already figured out the king wasn't good? He was barely even in the third book. Clarke – along with the girls in the book – had believed in him right up until he betrayed them, and that wasn't until book six! 

She tucked another note into the fourth book:

_To My Reading Buddy,_

_I won't tell you anything about the king, because that would be spoilers. All I'll say is that not everything is as it seems._

_Can I at least know your name?_

_Your friend,_  
_Clarke_

This time, it was over a week before she got the book back. Summer was almost halfway gone, and soon her family would be going away for a week on their annual vacation to the lake with the Jahas. Usually she looked forward to it all summer, but this year she was dreading it. How could she keep watch for her pen-and-book pal if she wasn't here? 

She decided she was going to catch them, no matter how long she had to wait. 

Unfortunately for her, her parents had other ideas, and in the end she found herself packed into the car no closer to solving her mystery than she had been. She'd left two books this time, and a note explaining that she would be away for a week but she would be back soon, and she hoped they liked the books, and if they had any suggestions for things Clarke might like to read, she would be happy to hear them. Maybe it was silly, asking a question when she wouldn't be around to get the answer, but they were running out of books in the series, and Clarke didn't want them to just disappear when the books were done. 

"What's up with you?" Wells asked after dinner that night. They were down on the dock, nibbling on ice cream cones with their feet dangling in the water. "You seem... distracted. Or like you don't want to be here." 

Clarke shrugged. She couldn't admit she _didn't_ want to be here. Wells was so sensitive, he might decide it had something to do with him, but it didn't. Sure, things were a little awkward between them sometimes, because Clarke was pretty sure Wells had a crush on her that she didn't reciprocate, but he would get over it. At least she hoped he would. She didn't want to lose her oldest friend over something as silly as not being able to see someone she'd once taken baths with as boyfriend material. For her. For someone else, he would be great. 

Maybe she would make it her mission to find that someone else. Right after she figured out who her reading buddy was.

"Earth to Clarke," Wells said. "Come in, Clarke!"

"Huh?" She looked at him, forced a smile. "Sorry. Just... thinking."

"About what?"

Clarke bit her lip. She could tell him. Maybe she _should_ tell him. Maybe he would have some idea of how to lure the reader out into the open, or even who they might be. His dad was the mayor of their little town; he ought to know the people in it, right? But if she told Wells, and he told his father, they wouldn't be her little secret anymore, and Clarke liked having something that didn't belong to anyone but her. Which was maybe a strange sentiment, since she was an only child and didn't really have to share anything. 

"School," she said finally. "We're going to be _juniors_."

"So?" Wells asked. "You know you don't have anything to worry about. You'll be able to go to whatever school you want." 

"So will you," Clarke said. "You're just as smart as I am."

It was Wells' turn to shrug. "So what are you worried about?"

"I don't know," Clarke said. "Everything changing, I guess. Not that I want to be stuck in a small town forever, but... it's familiar, you know? Comfortable. It's easy being a big fish in a small pond. What if we go out into the world and discover we're not as great as we've always been told we are."

Wells snorted. "I don't think it will matter how big a pond you end up in," he said. "You're not a fish. You're a shark."

It didn't feel entirely like a compliment. "I'm sure by the time we graduate, I'll be more than ready to go," Clarke said. "It's just weird to think about that moment when we'll discover that everything we thought we knew about the world isn't everything there is to know."

"Yeah," Wells agreed, and licked a drip of ice cream from his hand. "But you'll be okay. You always are."

The week passed slowly, and Clarke found herself leading the charge to pack up and get home instead of dawdling like usual. Her father looked at her out of the corner of his eye as they stuffed their bags into the trunk. "Everything okay?" he asked. 

"Everything's fine," Clarke said. "Just ready to go home."

"Did something happen between you and Wells?" he asked. "Did you have a fight?"

"No," Clarke said. "Nothing like that."

"Okay," Dad said. "Go tell your mom we're all packed."

The drive home seemed to last an eternity, and Clarke found herself staring out the window, searching for familiar landmarks that would tell her they were getting close, they were almost there. Finally she saw a sign for their town... still 30 miles away, but that was only half an hour, give or take. She could survive another half an hour...

They unloaded the car in record time, with Clarke making twice as many trips back and forth as anyone else. She was delayed by her mother insisting she needed to get her dirty laundry in the wash, but finally grabbed the next book off the shelf and made a beeline for the trees. 

A flash of color caught her eye as she approached, too big to be a book, and she slowed down, creeping forward at a much more cautious pace, because she didn't know who – or what – was there. Was it her friend, waiting for her, having changed their mind about meeting? Could it be an animal? 

She took another step closer, peering through the trees, then another until it resolved into the shape of a person. A girl, nestled into the space between tree roots that was Clarke's favorite spot to sit, too, a book in her lap and her finger sliding across the page, underlining the words as she read them, her lips moving like a small child who still needed to sound things out. 

Clarke reached the last tree that separated them. One step closer and she would be out in the open, as visible to the girl as she was to Clarke. This was the moment she'd been waiting for all summer, and she found herself fighting butterflies, which was silly because she wasn't shy. Not usually. 

She took the last step. "Caught you."


	2. Chapter 2

Two words. 

Two words and Lexa's insides turned to ice, and she froze with a book she shouldn't be reading gripped in hands that should have been working, weeding or chopping or stirring or tending something or someone, a baby or an elder or someone ailing regardless of their age, like the dutiful daughter she was meant to be. 

Two words, and her tiny but monumental act of rebellion, of betrayal, the little piece of a world all her own she'd carved out of stolen moments came crashing down. 

She'd known this moment would come. She'd tried to prepare for it, tried to think of words to persuade whoever eventually caught her that she wasn't doing wrong, or at least she wasn't doing harm, and there was no reason to tell her father. She'd rehearsed vows that it had been a one-time indiscretion, a momentary lapse that had never happened before and would never happen again. Lies, all lies, but necessary ones. 

She'd hoped she might avoid it a little longer, until the harvest started and she was trapped in a sweltering kitchen for hours at a time canning and preserving everything they would need to get them through the winter, or maybe until winter when snow on the ground would have made it impossible to sneak off without leaving a clear path behind her to show where she'd gone. She'd hoped she might at least get the chance to finish the books...

Now that the moment had come, though, all of the words – every single one – were gone, and she couldn't move, could barely breathe, and the sound of blood rushing in her ears drowned out everything else. 

And then the voice – and Lexa didn't dare look up to see who it was – spoke again. "I've been trying all summer to catch you, to meet you, and now—" It stopped.

And Lexa realized several things at once. First, that the voice was young. Someone her age, and therefore – maybe – more inclined to listen. Second, that they were speaking English, not the dialect of her people. Third, that the voice was coming from the side of the house, not the field. Which meant...

She forced herself to look up, first her eyes and then her head, her neck stiff with tension... and immediately looked away, her cheeks flushing scarlet and not just from the heat of the day. 

It was a girl. Unmistakably, undeniably a girl, because what she wore – what little there was of it – left almost nothing to the imagination. Lexa dared another glance, unable to resist confirming what she'd thought she'd seen. Skin, and plenty of it. A shirt that clung to the contours of her body, leaving her arms and even her shoulders entirely bare, and dipping so low in the front... Lexa forced her eyes down, but her shorts were as abbreviated as her top, barely skimming the tops of her thighs, and—

She looked away again, down at the book whose pages she was crumpling in her too tight grip, and she forced her fingers to unclench, tucking the bit of yarn she'd been using to mark her page into it and closing it carefully. She didn't know why she bothered; she would never get to finish now. She tucked the book into the plastic bag along with the other one Clarke had left for her and sealed it with slow, deliberate motions, as if she could somehow still get away from here without being noticed, even as she felt the girl's eyes marking her every move. 

"You don't have to go," the girl said. "I didn't mean to startle you. I know you said we could never meet, but—"

Lexa's head snapped up. " _You_ are Clarke?" she asked. 

"Yes," the girl said, but the word tipped up at the end like a question, like she wasn't sure and might just be saying what she thought Lexa wanted to hear. Lexa's eyes narrowed, trying to decide if she was telling the truth. Because if she was going to get caught speaking to someone outside of her community, it was better if it was a girl, because boys – outsider boys – only wanted one thing, and they didn't have to marry you to get it. A girl was far less likely to try to lead you astray. So she'd been told. But if her father saw this girl... so much of this girl...

It made sense, though. Lexa didn't know much about the outside world – if her father could have his way she would know nothing at all – but if they really only wanted one thing like she'd been told, why would they read books about girls who were too busy fighting dragons and rescuing mermaids and uncovering the duplicity of the king (and she'd been right, she'd seen it from the start and finally, _finally_ everyone else was seeing it too) and now plotting how to escape his dungeons and whatever dark fate he had planned for them?

"I thought you were a boy," Lexa admitted. 

The girl – Clarke – laughed. "I get that a lot." She took a step closer, then lowered herself to the ground, sitting cross-legged in the shade of the trees that would, in a few months, be heavy with fruit. Lexa wondered if Clarke came out and picked apples from the tree to eat while she read in the slanting afternoon sunshine, teeth piercing tart flesh as crisp as the autumn breeze, juice dripping down her chin...

She shook the image from her head, her fingers twisting in her skirt as she fought the urge to bring her hands to her chest to steady her racing heart. 

"I thought you were younger," Clarke said, leaning forward and plucking a flower – a weed, really – from the grass and twisting its stem between her fingers. "From your handwriting and spell—" She stopped herself, and now it was her cheeks growing pink. "I'm sorry," she said. "That's rude."

Lexa bit her lip, letting it drag through her teeth, the faint sting grounding her in the moment as she tried to decide what to do, what to say, whether to say anything at all or whether to just go and never come back. She'd told Clarke they could never meet and she'd meant it, but now they had anyway, and Lexa had only herself to blame. She'd heard the car pulling into the driveway, heard voices and movement and the screen door slamming over and over again, and she'd known she ought to leave but she'd wanted to finish the chapter, needed to know what happened next, and so she'd ignored all the warning signs and now here they were, not who each other had expected, but...

"You can keep reading," Clarke said when the silence stretched too long. "I'll go get my book." She was up and away before Lexa could respond, and Lexa tried to look away from her retreating backside but...

She slid one hand surreptitiously to her belly, which fluttered in a way she didn't know how to describe or fully understand. She knew she should take the opportunity to disappear, to go back where she'd come from and never return, but she felt rooted in place, and Clarke was already coming back before she managed to finish lacing her boots. 

"Do you really have to go?" Clarke asked. Tiny lines furrowed between her brows. "If you do I won't keep you. But it looks like you're almost done, and—" She shrugged, sitting down again, closer to Lexa than before, and took the book back out of the bag to check the page where she'd left off. "And you're nearly at the best part," she said. "If you have a few more minutes..."

"It'll take me more than a few minutes," Lexa admitted. "I don't—" She swallowed, licked lips gone dry despite the dense humidity that had sweat soaking through her dress and not evaporating away. "I don't read very quickly," she said. "I'm not..." Her tongue flicked out again. "I'm not supposed to."

Clarke stared at her, at her mouth for a long moment and then into her eyes. "You're not supposed to _read_?"

Lexa shook her head. "Only enough to read the Fla—" She caught herself. She wasn't supposed name it, not to outsiders. The Flame was their holy book, and her father was the Flamekeeper, the leader of their community, responsible for interpreting its message and conveying it to his – its – followers. "The book," she amended. "And even that's best left to men." 

Clarke started to laugh but stopped when she realized Lexa was serious. "Wait, really?" she asked.

Lexa dipped her chin in a nod. "This," she gestured vaguely, toward the books and Clarke and the line she'd crossed when she'd slipped through the rickety old fence that separated her people's fields from Clarke's family's yard, "is strictly forbidden." 

"Oh," Clarke said. "But you're here anyway." 

Lexa nodded. "I didn't mean to disobey," she said. "One of the calves got loose – we don't usually let them into this field – and I had to come find it. I saw the book you left under the tree and I knew I should leave it, just ignore it and bring the calf home like I'd been told, but it was just sitting there and—" Her stomach fluttered again, remembering the fear and excitement that had gripped her in the moment, how her hands had shook as she'd tied the calf to the fence and slipped through to grab the treasure she'd spotted on the other side. How she'd been afraid the entire thing would crumble to dust in her hands, punishment from on high for touching it, or just because it had obviously been loved nearly to death, but she'd flipped to the first page anyway and read just a few words, and then just a few more, and then a whole page and another and another until the calf had bawled at her in annoyance at being tied up and dragged her back to reality. How her heart had banged against her ribcage as she stuffed the book down the front of her dress, glad of its loose fit so the shape of the book where it pressed to her skin didn't show. 

"I didn't sleep that night hardly at all," Lexa said, her voice dropped to a whisper. She'd taken one of the quilts from her bed and shoved it against the door so the light wouldn't show, and drawn her drapes tight so a nosy neighbor wouldn't see the lamp's glow through the window long past the time she ought to have been sleeping and mention it to her father. She'd devoured the book word by word, and when she reached the end her heart was full but her mind was starved like it had only just realized it had never truly been fed. She'd snuck down to the kitchen and stolen the stub of a pencil her mother used to write down lists of things she needed from town, things they couldn't make or grow themselves, and painstakingly written out the question she needed to know the answer to: Is there more? She'd tried to check the spelling against words in the book but apparently hadn't done a very good job from what Clarke had stopped herself from saying. She'd then crept out to return the book, getting back just as her mother was coming down to start breakfast. Her father was still in bed, so her parents were none the wiser, and her mother pleased that she was making an effort to get an early start on the day. 

"Me either, the first time I read it," Clarke said. "Once I started I couldn't stop." She smiled, leaning in a little. "No one else I know reads them anymore. They all 'outgrew' them. I guess maybe I should, too, but..." She shrugged, and Lexa saw her cheek dent in like she was biting the inside of it, her eyes dropping to the ground where she plucked another few flowers from the grass. "If you wanted... if you don't have to go right away... I could read to you? It might be quicker...?"

Lexa started to shake her head. She really should get home. Luna – her friend whose house she'd said she was going to – could only cover for her for so long if someone came looking. But she did want to know what happened, and... "Yes," she said. "I would like that." 

Clarke's face split in a grin and she scooted closer to Lexa, so their backs were against the same tree and Lexa could feel the heat radiating from Clarke's bare skin through the material of her dress, which was lightweight but still too warm for a muggy summer afternoon, with long sleeves and a skirt almost down to her ankles and a collar that scratched against her neck. She tugged at it as Clarke leaned in, holding the book where Lexa could see the words if she wanted to, and started to read.

Lexa let the words wash over her, her eyes half-closed as she felt the story come to life in the shifts in Clarke's voice, a different one for each character and exactly how she'd imagined them... or maybe she hadn't imagined them, her imagination having been forced into atrophy almost before it could form... but each fit the character perfectly. When Clarke reached the end of the chapter, in which the heroines had devised a fool-proof (at least they thought so) plan to get themselves out of the king's dungeons, she glanced at Lexa. 

"Keep going," Lexa said. "Please." She had to know what happened next. She had to know whether their plan worked, because in the pit of her stomach she was sure they had missed something, that they were underestimating the king's malice, and there was no way she would sleep that night if she was left to wonder. 

Clarke smiled and started reading again, the words coming out a little faster, like her own anxiety was getting the best of her even though she already knew how things turned out. Restless and fidgety as the tension ramped up, Lexa picked up the flowers Clarke had discarded and began to braid them together, reaching to pick more, weaving the stems until she'd made a long chain, and then used a bit of grass to tie the ends together to form a crown. 

Clarke stopped reading abruptly and closed the book, and Lexa looked up. "Why did you stop?" she asked.

"That's the end of the book," Clarke said. 

"What?" Lexa shook her head. "No! It can't be! Mara's still trapped. The king has her, and he's going to—he might—" She shook her head again, unwilling to voice the fate she feared the king had planned for her favorite character. 

Clarke laughed. "It is," she said, opening to the last page and showing her. "I can get you the next one." 

Lexa realized how far the sun had fallen in the sky. "I can't," she said. "I have to go." She looked down at the circlet in her hands, and at the halo the sun made around Clarke's head. "Thank you," she said. 

"You can take it home with you," Clarke said. "The next book."

Lexa shook her head. "I'd better not. Maybe... maybe tomorrow." She couldn't promise, and knew she shouldn't even consider coming back, but she couldn't resist. It wasn't just the pull of the story now, but the pull of Clarke herself, who had maybe been surprised by how she was dressed and the fact that she could barely read even though Lexa thought they must be close to the same age, but who hadn't judged her for it or been put off by it. 

Clarke had signed all of her notes 'your friend', and now that they'd met Lexa thought maybe it could be true not just on paper but in reality... if she let it. 

"Okay," Clarke said, looking disappointed and hopeful at the same time. "If I'm not out here, you can knock and—"

Lexa shook her head. "No," she said. "I can't do that."

"Should we set a time, then?" Clarke asked. "Every day after lunch I'll come out and wait for you?" 

"No," Lexa said again. "It's not easy for me to get away and I don't want you to waste your time."

Clarke frowned. "It's not—you're not a waste of time," she said. "But I get it. I think. I'm out here a lot anyway, so..." 

Lexa nodded, not sure what else to do, or what to say. She hesitated, then held out the flower crown. Clarke knelt solemnly, like Lexa really was bestowing a kingdom upon her and not just a strand of wildflowers, and when Lexa placed it on her head, she rose, trying and failing to hold back a smile.

"May we meet again," Clarke said, like the characters did in the book when they were forced to part, holding out a hand. 

"I hope so," Lexa said, scrubbing her palms against her skirt before reaching out and placing her palm against Clarke's and squeezing back when Clarke's fingers closed around hers. She let the touch linger for a little longer than was proper, and her eyes even longer than that, before turning and heading for the fence, ducking between the rails.

"Wait!" Clarke called, and then Lexa turned she was right there, only a few steps behind. "I still don't know your name!" 

"Lexa," she said. 

"Lexa," Clarke repeated, and Lexa swore no word had ever sounded sweeter.

* * *

"Lexa!" Luna met her at the edge of the field, her hair wild around her face despite her best efforts to contain it. They hadn't found a braid or cap yet that was its equal, and Lexa secretly suspected Luna didn't try very hard. It was her own little act of rebellion. "Where have you been?"

"Sorry," Lexa said, out of breath from running through the field. She realized she'd said it in English and quickly switched. "I'm sorry. I lost track of time."

Luna's face pinched in a scowl. "That doesn't answer my question," she said. 

"I know," Lexa said. "I'm sorry." 

Luna's eyes narrowed further. "Tell me it's not a boy," she said. "You know I'll always have your back, but there'll be nothing I can do if you get yourself in trouble..." 

Lexa knew exactly what sort of trouble Luna was referring to, and her distaste for the idea – and the idea of boys in general – must have shown on her face because Luna laughed. 

"Okay," she said. "Not a boy." 

"Not a boy," Lexa confirmed. Her eyes flicked back and forth, making sure there was no one close enough to overhear, then leaned in and whispered, "I thought it might be, but it's a girl." 

Luna's eyebrows went up and the corners of her mouth tipped down, and Lexa realized she had to decide here and now how much she was willing to trust one of the few people she considered a friend. She finally realized that it wasn't fair to expect Luna to cover for her duplicity without having any idea of what was at stake, so she leaned in even closer and quickly, quietly, in as few words as possible, told Luna about the books, and about meeting Clarke... and how she knew she wouldn't be able to stay away. 

"You can't tell _anyone,_ ," Lexa said. "Swear it."

"I swear it," Luna said, then held up a finger. "On one condition."

"You can't make conditions after you swear!" Lexa protested, but heaved a sigh. "What's the condition."

"You tell me the stories," Luna said. "The ones you read already. Tell me, and I'll do everything I can to make sure you get to read the rest."

Lexa pressed her lips together, fighting back a grin and grabbed Luna's hand and squeezed it. "You have a deal."

* * *

Her father glared at her over supper, his eyes roving her face like he was searching for something to criticize, some reason to find her wanting, and growing increasingly frustrated when there was no fault to find. Sure, she'd spent the afternoon away from home, but she'd finished all of her chores first, and when Luna's mother had come looking for them to tell Luna it was time for supper and Lexa it was time to head home, they'd been in the barn mucking out stalls, which wasn't even their chore to do, because it was one place where they weren't likely to be overheard while Lexa related to Luna the storyline from the first book. She wasn't sure she'd remembered all the details correctly, but if she got anything wrong Luna wouldn't know anyway. In any case, he couldn't criticize her for shirking duties at home when she'd been helping a neighbor. It was what they were supposed to do.

She kept her face as blank as she could, giving him only a bland, dutiful smile in response to his scrutiny. When she was younger she'd believed he could see straight into her head and read her thoughts, but the older she got the more she realized he'd only been responding to her signals, and that it was her own squirming under his intense gaze that had given away her guilt when she'd done something he wouldn't approve of. Over the last few years she'd gotten very good at maintaining the mask of Dutiful Daughter.

"You'll come with me tomorrow when I make my rounds," he said. "If you're so determined to be helpful." 

"Yes, Father," she said, because she had no choice, and hoped his visits to parishioners wouldn't take all day.


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke spent most of the next day outside, waiting for Lexa to come back. She hadn't made any promises – she'd pretty much done the opposite – but Clarke couldn't keep herself from hoping. Her eyes jerked up from the pages she couldn't concentrate on at the faintest rustle, but every time it was a bird or a squirrel or just the wind. She finally left the seventh book out under the tree when she was called in for dinner with a note tucked inside:

_Lexa,_

_I missed you today. Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow, but just in case our paths don't cross, here is the next book._

_Your friend,_   
_Clarke_

For once her mother hadn't been called in to work, so all three of them were there for dinner. They sat at the table, quiet as they filled their plates and began emptying them again. It was a comfortable silence, or it should have been, but Clarke found herself getting increasingly antsy with each passing minute. 

"What's gotten into you?" her dad asked, looking at her with an indulgent smile. "We keeping you from a hot date?"

Clarke felt heat rising in her cheeks, even though it was nothing like that. "No," she said. "I don't know. I'm just restless." 

"Is something bothering you?" her mother asked, her eyes narrowing. Her father was smart and observant, and he could usually tell when something was off with Clarke, but her mother... it was like her mother had X-ray vision straight into her head. 

"No," Clarke said again. "I'm fine." 

But she wasn't fine. Last night Clarke had been so elated at having finally caught her mysterious book buddy that she hadn't given much thought to the things she'd said, but today she'd had all the time in the world to think, and the more she did, the more it bothered her. 

"What do you know about the—" She stopped, realizing she didn't know what to call them. They weren't a cult – at least she didn't think they were – but they weren't any standard religious sect that she was aware of, either. "Who does the field out by the old orchard belong to?" she asked. 

"It's part of a farm," her father said. 

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Obviously. But who does it _belong_ to?"

"The church," her mother said. "Or one of the members of it." 

"What church?" Clarke asked, realizing that she'd seen and accepted the presence of its members, with their old-fashioned clothing and strange dialect that sometimes sounded a little like English but not enough for her to pick out what they were saying on the rare occasions she'd been close enough to them to overhear it, her entire life, but she didn't even know what they were called.

"The Followers of the Eternal Flame," her father supplied.

Her mother nodded her agreement. "Something like that. They've owned it as long as we've been here, and from what I know, a lot longer than that. They've been here as long as the town has." 

"What do you know about them?" Clarke asked. 

"Why the sudden interest?" her father asked, rather than answering. Didn't he know it was rude to answer a question with a question? 

"History class," Clarke said. "We have a summer work assignment to write about something from local history." It was a lie, but she hoped her parents trusted her enough that they hadn't been keeping tabs on her classes through the school's online portal. 

"And you've left it until now?" her mother asked, her lips pursed in disapproval. 

"I still have a couple of weeks!" Clarke protested. _That's plenty of time to complete an assignment that doesn't exist!_ "And it's not long. Only a couple of pages. I think it's mostly busywork, so our brains don't completely atrophy over the break." She forced a smile, which only her father returned. 

"Maybe you should have been focusing on that instead of spending your entire summer reading books you've read a thousand times before," her mother said. 

"Abby," her father said gently, reaching over to lay his hand over hers. "She'll get it done. She always does. And it will be amazing because it always is." 

Clarke ducked her head, feeling slightly guilty but mostly pleased at the praise. "I'll go to the library to do some research tomorrow," she said. Maybe she even meant it, because now her curiosity was piqued, and even if she did get to see Lexa again, Clarke didn't know if she would want to answer a million questions about her life... or if she'd tell the truth if she did. "But do you know anything?"

"Not much," her father said. "They keep themselves to themselves, mostly. They only come into town when they absolutely have to. They try to make and grow everything they need themselves." 

"Right," Clarke said. 

"They're stuck in the past," her mother said, her tone and expression sour. "They think they can handle their own medical care, too, using remedies that have absolutely no basis in science." 

"Abby," her father said again.

"What?" she demanded. "Do you know how many of them I've had to treat for problems that would have been completely preventable if they'd bothered to see a doctor ever in their lives? How many people – children – I've had to watch suffer and even die because they waited too long to seek treatment, thinking they could just boil some herbs and everything would be fine?" She shook her head. 

"Aspirin is willow bark," her father said. 

"Aspirin is—" Her mother heaved a huge sigh. "I'm not saying everything they use is completely ineffective, but they rely far too heavily on folklore and prayers, and they suffer for it."

"What about education?" Clarke asked, because she wanted to know but also because she wanted to stop a fight before it started. 

"What about it?" her mother asked. 

"Well the kids don't go to school with us," Clarke said. She tried to imagine Lexa in the halls of her high school, in her long dress with her braided hair tucked up under a little cap, and couldn't do it. It was too incongruous. "But they have to go to school somewhere, don't they?"

"They're homeschooled," her mother said. "If you can call it that. From what I can tell from the patients I've seen, they're all but illiterate. The majority of them, anyway. Their leaders – elders, whatever you want to call them – seem to be a little better educated. Which isn't saying much." 

"Do they—" Clarke swallowed. "What if someone wanted to, to learn more? Than they're allowed? What would happen?"

Her mother's eyes narrowed, and even her father was looking at her suspiciously now, and she knew she'd thrown the line on this fishing expedition once too many. "I thought this was a local history paper," her mom said. "This sounds more like anthropology." 

"Aren't they connected?" Clarke asked. "But you're right. Never mind. I'll see what I can find at the library."

* * *

Clarke did go to the library the next morning, but she spent more time looking over her shoulder than at the actual books about local history she'd pulled from the shelves. She knew there was no chance Lexa would turn up here, but she couldn't stop herself from looking. She did see Wells, and practically crawled under the table to avoid being seen because she didn't want him to start asking questions about what she was doing and why, or worse, invite her over for the afternoon. Not that she would have minded spending some time in the pool – it was barely mid-morning and the heat was already enough to make her feel like her insides might start to boil if she spent more than a few minutes in the sun – but she needed to get home to see Lexa...

... even if Lexa might not be there. 

_What if she doesn't come back?_ , Clarke couldn't help thinking. Sure, she'd stuck around after Clarke caught her, but what if she'd decided afterward it was too big a risk and never returned? What if she'd gotten caught, and gotten in trouble? What would happen to her then? 

The books she'd found yielded next to nothing about the Followers of the Eternal Flame (also referred to as the Fellowship of the Eternal Flame, the Church of the Eternal Flame, and several other variations on the theme). It was as if it was just accepted that they'd always been there and always would be, and no one had ever thought to find out anything about who they were and what they believed. 

And if anyone had ever left the group, they weren't talking. At least not anywhere Clarke could find. 

She finally gave up, putting the books back on one of the carts to be reshelved (because she'd been told once that it was better for the library not to do it herself – it was how they kept track of library usage and what people were interested in) and went to the section of the library reserved for children and teens, browsing the shelves for something she hadn't already read... or didn't mind reading again. There wasn't a huge selection – it wasn't a big library – but she found a few things that looked interesting... and a few she thought Lexa might like. She hesitated, because she couldn't really lend Lexa a library book, could she?, but eventually pulled them from the shelves and added them to her stack.

"Did you find everything you were looking for?" the librarian asked when she got to the circulation desk. 

_No,_ Clarke thought, but smiled and nodded. 

"Great," the librarian said, scanning her card and then the books, sliding them across the counter for Clarke to tuck into her bag. She zipped it up after she'd stuffed in the last book and heaved it over her shoulder, shrugging until it settled without the spines of the books poking into hers. 

"Thank you," she said. 

"See you next week!" the librarian called cheerfully, drawing a real smile from Clarke this time. 

She unlocked her bike from the rack outside and pedaled home, dumping it on the front lawn (which she would get in trouble for it she didn't put it in the garage before her parents got home) and raced around the house, not wanting to waste time with keys and doors. She was out of breath when she got out to the old orchard, just in time to see a flash of color disappearing into the tall grass of the field.

"Lexa!" 

The figure stopped, turned, and for a moment Clarke held her breath, only letting it out again when she saw that Lexa was coming back. 

"I'm sorry!" Clarke blurted, rushing to the fence and offering a hand to help Lexa over. "I was at the library. I thought—" She shook her head. It didn't matter what she thought. All that mattered was that Lexa was here, and so was she. "Do you have to go right away?" 

"No," Lexa said. "I have a little while." But her eyes darted toward whatever was on the other side of the field and she licked her lower lip, a nervous habit that made Clarke altogether too aware of the full curve of it. She forced herself to focus on other things – the green of Lexa's eyes, the spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, the baggy dress that left everything to the imagination – but it didn't do anything to stop the twisting, squirming feeling in her belly. 

"Are you hungry?" Clarke asked. "I could get us a snack." When Lexa hesitated, her fingers twitching in the folds of her skirt, her lips slightly parted like she wanted to say something but didn't know what, Clarke added, "I promise it'll be quick."

Lexa finally nodded, a quick dip of her chin, and Clarke dumped her backpack at the base of the tree and dashed inside, fumbling with her keys (why they bothered to lock their doors at all she didn't know; it wasn't as if there was anyone just drifting through town, looking for something to steal) and crashing through the door. 

She cut up an apple and put a huge scoop of peanut butter onto the plate, then added a couple of string cheeses. She grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and threw it over her shoulder, then went back out to where Lexa was waiting. 

"We can have a picnic," Clarke said, spreading the blanket in the shade beneath the trees. "Here." She set the plate down in the center and sprawled on one side, kicking off her shoes. She used a wedge of apple to scoop up a glob of peanut butter and crunched into it while Lexa settled more sedately beside her. She moved slowly, like she was in pain... or maybe she just wasn't the kind of person who did things recklessly. Maybe she was always this careful and considered. "Go on," Clarke said, gesturing to the plate. "Have some." 

When she didn't reach for anything, Clarke did it for her, holding out a piece of apple until she took it. She licked daintily at the peanut butter, and Clarke felt herself heating up and had to look away. "Where did the book go?" she asked, looking around. 

Lexa flushed and turned away, but even with her back turned Clarke could tell she was retrieving the book from the front of her dress. She held it out, not quite meeting Clarke's eyes, and Clarke took it, not quite meeting Lexa's. Clarke could feel the dampness of Lexa's sweat on the cover and tried not to think about the damage it might have done to paper. It didn't matter. Books could be replaced. (Like her copy of book 4, which had had an unfortunate encounter with the bathtub that it had never quite recovered from.) 

"Do you want me to read to you again?" Clarke asked. 

Lexa covered her mouth because she was still chewing and mumbled, "Yes. Please." 

Clarke opened to the first page and began, stopping only occasionally to eat another piece of apple or to tear into and peel apart a string cheese, which Lexa eyed like it might bite her instead of the other way around. 

"You've never had one?" Clarke asked, distracted from the narrative. 

Lexa shook her head. So Clarke showed her how to peel open the wrapper, and pull the stick of cheese (or some close facsimile thereof) into strings. She dangled one over Lexa's mouth like a mama bird offering a worm, and finally Lexa opened and let her drop it in. The way her face contorted when she started to chew was so priceless Clarke couldn't help laughing, and she whipped out her phone to take a picture before the expression of absolute horror disappeared. 

Lexa recoiled. "What did you do?" she asked. 

"I just took a picture," Clarke said. She hadn't even thought about it. "I can delete it if you want me to." 

Lexa started to nod, then stopped. "Can I... can I see?"

"Of course," Clarke said, scooting over to show her the screen. 

Lexa's lips pursed, and then she started to smile. It was the first real smile Clarke had seen from her, the first that didn't try to – or couldn't – hide itself. And Clarke had to capture that too, and Lexa blinked in surprise when she showed her, like she'd never really seen herself. 

Maybe she hadn't? Maybe her people didn't do mirrors? What would it be like to have no idea what your own face looked like? Clarke wasn't the kind of person who spent hours (or, if she was being honest, more than five minutes most days) fussing over her appearance, but she stared at her reflection every morning and night when she brushed her teeth, so she knew her face as well as she knew, well... her own face. 

"We should take one together," Clarke said. She waited for Lexa's nod, then pressed herself close against her side so they could both fit in the frame. She held out her arm and snapped the picture, then took another one because Lexa looked so startled in the first. 

"Perfect," Clarke said, showing her. 

"Unlike _that_ ," Lexa said, pointing at the string cheese. 

Clarke laughed and stuffed a strip into her mouth. "More for me," she said. She picked up the book and began to read again. 

She had only read a few more pages when Lexa interrupted her. "I'm sorry I didn't come yesterday," she said. "I had to go on visits with my father. Check on the sick and—"

"Is your father a doctor?" Clarke asked. "My mom is."

Lexa shook her head. "No," she said. "He's our... spiritual leader." She frowned, biting into her lip, and Clarke had the urge to pull it from between her teeth, but she squashed it. She didn't want to make things weird. 

"What about your mother?" Clarke asked. "What does she do?"

"Takes care of things at home," Lexa said. "That's... a woman's place." 

"Oh," Clarke said. She wondered if Lexa actually believed that. From the hesitation in her voice, the soft, wistful note, she suspected it wasn't, that Lexa dreamed of something more than just cooking and cleaning and raising kids. "Sorry, I—"

"I should go," Lexa said. 

"No!" Clarke said. "No, don't. I'm sorry I asked. I'm not trying to pry. We'll just read, okay? Don't you want to know what happens? How they rescue Mara?" (But really, Mara rescued herself, but telling Lexa that would be spoilers.) 

Lexa looked back toward the field. "I guess I can stay a little longer," she said softly. "Just until we finish the chapter."

"Okay," Clarke said. She found her place on the page and started to read again, pausing only for a moment at the end of the chapter before going on to the next, and the next, each time looking at Lexa to see if she was really going to leave this time. They made it almost halfway through the book before Lexa finally stood up and brushed herself off.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For... everything."

"Except the string cheese?" Clarke teased. 

Lexa let out a soft snort, looking at Clarke with bright eyes and lips curved into a crooked smile. "Except the string cheese," she agreed. "I'm not sure that's really food."

Clarke stuck out her tongue and laughed with her. "Do you want to—" she held out the book, but Lexa shook her head before she could finish. 

"It's safer with you," she said. "I'll come back. Soon. Tomorrow, I hope, but—" Lexa sighed. "It's not easy to get away. My friend covers for me, but I can't risk getting her in trouble with me." 

"I understand," Clarke said, even though she didn't really. How could she, when she was free to do pretty much whatever she wanted as long as her parents knew where she was and when she would be home? "I'll be here."


	4. Chapter 4

"You're late," Luna said, accusation in her tone but also amusement. "Are you sure there's no boy?"

"No boy," Lexa said, wrinkling her nose. "Do you want to hear more or not?"

"No time," Luna said. "I have to get back, and so should you." They started walking back toward their houses, trying to look like they weren't up to anything. Lexa kept her eyes down as they walked, not wanting to meet anyone's eye for fear they would be able to read in her face that their leader's daughter, the girl who was supposed to set an example for all of the other young people, was engaging in a forbidden activity, and had no plans of stopping any time soon. 

When they got to the fork in the road where their paths diverged, Luna stopped. "When are you going back?" she asked, pitching her voice low.

"Tomorrow," Lexa said. "Unless my father..." She let it trail off, knowing Luna could fill in the blank. 

Luna nodded. "Same time?"

"If I can." She bit her lower lip, worrying at a bit of dry skin there. "You're lucky your parents—"

"Have too many other children to pay attention to what their eldest daughter is doing?" Luna asked, her eyebrows going up. "I know. You're lucky for that too."

"I know," Lexa said. "Thank you. Again. For doing this." 

"You owe me more stories," Luna said. "Don't forget that." 

"I won't," Lexa said. She grabbed her friend's hand and squeezed it, then quickly let it go. There were rules about when and where and how affection could be shown, and they were long past the age where transgressions would be dismissed because they were 'just children' and didn't know any better. 

Lexa wondered as she began the rest of her journey home what her father would think about how casually Clarke touched her, bumping her shoulder against Lexa's, letting their knees brush – and Clarke's completely bare! – putting food into her hands, even feeding her! Except she didn't really wonder, because she knew he would frown on all of it. There was absolutely nothing about Clarke he wouldn't object to... and maybe that was what made her so attractive to Lexa. 

Not that she wasn't attractive, objectively speaking. With her bright blue eyes and her sunny blonde hair and a smile that Lexa found it nearly impossible not to echo when Clarke turned it on her, she knew that any man would be proud to have her on his arm. Her insides squirmed at the thought, because what if there already was a man – or a boy, really – who had that kind of claim on Clarke? Clarke hadn't mentioned anyone, but they'd only spent a few hours with each other, and that left plenty of Clarke's time unaccounted for. Plenty of time for her to spend with other people, to press herself against them and take pictures cheek-to-cheek and—

_Stop,_ she told herself. _You can't think like this. He'll see right through you._

But it was difficult – no, impossible – to lock those thoughts up completely, especially alone in her room that night, and she wished she'd taken the book when Clarke offered it after all because at least it would have given her something else to focus on. 

She finally drifted off with her nerves still alight with a desire she didn't – and couldn't allow herself – to understand, and dreamed of impossible things.

* * *

By morning the dreams had evaporated, and her father's glares over the breakfast table were enough to quench the fire of her thoughts. He watched her perform her Dutiful Daughter routine, which would one day become a Dutiful Wife routine for some other man, and that was enough to send a chill down her spine and set her muscles twitching with the urge to run as far and as fast as she could. Which she knew wasn't a normal reaction, and one day she would have to stomp it down like she had already stomped down so many other parts of herself, and—

"What are you doing today, daughter?" her father asked. 

_The same thing I do every day,_ Lexa thought bitterly, but rattled off some rote answer about her list of chores and the vague suggestion that when they were done she might go help at the Waters' place, because everyone knew they would always use a spare set of hands.

He made a noncommittal but somehow disapproving noise, and she didn't know if it was directed at her for not doing her duty at home (even though she'd already promised she would) or at the Waters' for biting off more than they could chew, family-wise. But he didn't say she couldn't go, and that was as close to permission as she needed.

As soon as she could, she snuck off, making a quick stop at Luna's to tell her she was going. Luna reinforced the fact that she needed to be back _on time_ today, and that Lexa owed her, and that she really _could_ use some help with her seemingly endless list of chores.

"Do you have any mending?" Lexa asked. 

Luna rolled her eyes. "I have brothers," she said. "There's _always_ mending." 

"Give it to me," Lexa said. "I can do it while I listen." 

"I thought you were—" Luna lowered her voice to barely a whisper, even though there was no one around to overhear, " _reading_?"

"I was," Lexa said "I am. It's just quicker if she reads to me." Her cheeks flushed, and she didn't admit that part of the reason she let Clarke do it was just because she liked listening to the sound of her voice. "The quicker I know what happens next, the quicker I can tell you," she pointed out, although she still had several books' worth of story to relay before that would become an issue. 

"I'll get it," Luna said, and ducked into the house to retrieve the nearly overflowing basket of mending. They tidied it up as best they could so nothing would fall out during Lexa's trek across the field, and double-checked that there were needles and thread tucked in along with it. 

"Go on," Luna said finally. "And come back—"

"On time," Lexa said. "I know." She grabbed Luna's hand and squeezed it again, and this time felt her squeeze back. And then she was off as fast as her skirt and the tall grass of the field would allow.

* * *

"There you are," Clarke said, already waiting at the fence when Lexa got there, and Lexa wondered if that meant she'd seen her coming, and if _that_ meant others might see the path she'd taken to get here as well. "What's that? Did you bring us a picnic this time?" She was smiling, showing all her teeth, and Lexa bit her lip to stop herself from smiling back too much. 

"Not a picnic," she said, flipping back the shirt she'd tucked over the top of everything else to keep it contained. "Mending." 

"Oh," Clarke said, her forehead furrowing slightly like she didn't understand the word. 

"It's for a friend," Lexa said. "My friend who I'm visiting right now." Clarke's frown deepened, and Lexa realized her mistake. She dropped her eyes, trying not to smile at Clarke's confusion. "The one my parents think I'm visiting," she amended. "Though I suppose I could help with yours, too." 

"My what?" Clarke asked. 

"Mending," Lexa said. "Or whatever you're supposed to be doing." 

"I'm not supposed to be doing anything," Clarke said. "It's summer vacation. I mean, I still have to do things like load and unload the dishwasher, and I do my own laundry, but other than that..." She shrugged. "I made up an assignment for school to explain why I was asking my parents about your people, but I don't think that's what you mean." 

She smiled as she said it, like it was some kind of joke, but her words turned Lexa's blood to ice water. "Don't do that," she said. "Don't—no one can know I'm coming here. No one can know—" She should go. This was all a mistake and she should go, because if her father found out, if she got caught... She shuddered, not wanting to imagine the consequences.

"I said it was for a paper about local history," Clarke said. "I didn't find much, anyway." She sat down on the ground, a graceless jumble of limbs until she got herself settled, and picked up the book, opening to the place where they'd left off the day before. "'The next day, Amelia and—" She stopped, realizing Lexa hadn't sat down with her, and looked up. "What's wrong?"

_Everything,_ Lexa thought. _Everything is wrong. I'm wrong. This is wrong. I'm not supposed to to want—_ She didn't even know what she wanted, what it was about these books and this girl and—

Clarke stood up again, too close, and wrapped her hands around Lexa's where they gripped the handle of the basket of mending too tight. "I'm sorry," she said softly, her eyes wide and still confused, but worried now, too. "I won't ask any more questions, okay?" 

Her touch burned, thawing the ice that had locked Lexa's limbs in place, and she finally sucked in a breath. "Please," Lexa said softly. 

"I won't," Clarke repeated. "I promise." She pried the basket from Lexa's fingers and set it down, then pressed Lexa's hands between her palms, warming skin that had gone cold despite the heat of the day. "We'll just keep reading. Okay?"

Lexa knew the right answer, the answer she'd had beaten into her her entire life. "Okay," she said instead, and this time when Clarke sat down, Lexa sat beside her. She busied herself with sorting through the mending, and then with a needle and thread, adding a button here and repairing a hem there while Clarke's voice wove worlds Lexa would never see – and not just because they were pure fantasy – around them. 

This time she kept a closer eye on the position of the sun in the sky, and when it had crept past noon and their stomachs started to growl, and she'd reattached the last collar (how Luna's brother had managed to tear it off she couldn't even begin to guess – boys would be boys, she supposed), she knew it was time to go.

"Wait," Clarke said as Lexa tucked the needle and thread into the basket. "There's only one more chapter." 

Lexa glanced at the sky again. As long as she walked quickly... "Okay," she said.

Clarke's shoulder nudged into Lexa's and her knee pressed into her thigh as she scooted close enough for Lexa to see the page along with her. Lexa tried to keep her breathing steady even as her heart began to race, and it was silly to get so worked up about contact that was entirely innocent, but maybe now she understood better why they were supposed to keep themselves covered...

When they reached the last page Clarke closed the book and set it aside. "Do you think you'll be able to come tomorrow?" she said. "School starts soon, and I won't be able to come out here as much and—" She lifted her shoulder, let it fall, and Lexa watched her throat bob as she swallowed, and she could see the pulse of Clarke's heart thrumming beneath her skin in the hollow of her throat, and—

"I hope so," Lexa said. 

"Good," Clarke said, flashing her a smile. "I don't want you to have to wait to find out what happens next." 

Lexa nodded and stood up, brushing off her skirt. She reached for the basket, but Clarke caught her hand before she could reach it. Lexa looked up, and Clarke was right there, looking at her with a serious, earnest expression, and Lexa could drown in the blue of her eyes, wide as the sky and deep as the lake she wasn't allowed to swim in, and—

"I promise I won't ask anymore," Clarke said. "I don't want you to get in trouble. I don't—" She licked her lips, pressing them together. "I don't want to not be able to see you anymore. Not just because of the story. I—"

"Thank you," Lexa said, believing Clarke even though she'd always been taught that outsiders were so fluent in deceit that it could be impossible to tell when they were lying. 

"I'll see you tomorrow," Clarke said. "I hope," she added before Lexa reminded her that she couldn't make any promises. And then she pulled Lexa into a hug, wrapping her arms around her and pressing her entire body against Lexa's entire body, and for a second Lexa couldn't move, couldn't think, could scarcely _breathe_ , and then Clarke let go. 

Lexa grabbed up the basket and hurried away, feeling shaky and off-balance, like the entire world had shifted just slightly under her feet and there was no such thing anymore as solid ground.

* * *

Lexa went back the next day, and the next, testing the limits of how long she could stay so they could get through as much of the next book as possible. On Friday, though, she realized that Clarke had told her way back at the beginning of this, in her very first note, that there were nine books in the series, which meant they were now on the last one. Which meant soon this – whatever this was – would all be over. 

So Lexa started asking questions. About the books, about Clarke, about her friends, family, school... anything and everything she could think of to slow down, to keep Clarke from reading more than a few chapters, because she wasn't ready to go back to her life, and her world, with no hope of escape, maybe ever again. She asked questions even though it was an unspoken invitation for Clarke to ask her questions in return. Mostly she didn't, though, maybe (rightly) thinking it would send Lexa into a panic like it had when she'd talked about trying to find out more about Lexa's people before. When she did, Lexa answered with as few words and as little information as possible. She might not like everything about her community, but they were mostly good people just living their lives the best way they knew how, and she didn't want Clarke judging them harshly when they didn't know any other way. She didn't want Clarke judging _her_ , either. She didn't want to give Clarke any reason to not want to see her anymore. 

"I won't be able to meet you tomorrow," Clarke said as she tucked a bookmark between the pages of the book only a few chapters in, but still significantly closer to the end than they had been at the beginning of the day. "We're going into the city so I can get stuff for school. And the next day my friend Wells is having a party, so I probably won't see you then, either." Her eyes met Lexa's, and Lexa thought she actually looked sad. It was the first time it occurred to Lexa that Clarke might look forward to these meetings as much as she did, and that Clarke might miss them – and her – when it was over. 

"A party?" Lexa asked. "On Sunday? Don't you—" She stopped herself. Not everyone's Sundays were dedicated to listening to their father drone on (and on and on...) about words in a book that dictated every aspect of their lives. 

"Don't I...?" 

"Have... church?" Lexa asked, taking a second to locate the word that best approximated how her Sundays were spent. They didn't call their gatherings that, but it was close enough, and something Clarke could understand.

"Oh," Clarke said. She shook her head. "We're not religious. I've never been to church in my life."

"You're lucky," Lexa blurted before she could think better of it. It was impossible to imagine that kind of freedom... but then on the other hand, what rules dictated Clarke's life? How did she know good from bad, right from wrong, if no one had ever taught her?

But someone had to have taught her, because from everything Lexa had seen of her, she was a good person. Sure, the way she dressed and some of the things she said flew in the face of everything Lexa had been taught growing up, but that didn't make it wrong... did it? 

Clarke smiled and shrugged. "I guess." She reached out to pluck a bit of grass from Lexa's skirt, her fingers barely grazing her knee underneath, and Lexa shivered, goosebumps racing over her skin, but she wasn't cold. The opposite, really. It was as if that one tiny touch had given her a momentary fever that settled low in her belly, a tight, pulsing, red-hot core. "I wish you could come with me," Clarke said. 

"I can't," Lexa replied, with maybe a little too much force.

"I know," Clarke said, looking up at her. "That doesn't mean I can't wish things were different."

_I wish they were different, too,_ Lexa thought. Not because she wanted to go to the city or to a party... although maybe she wanted those things too, just to see what they were like... but because she wished she had the freedom to go where she wanted, when she wanted, and talk to who she wanted, without fear of her father finding out and making her pay for her transgressions against the teachings of The Flame... but really they were _his_ teachings, because he was the one who got to choose how to interpret its words, and most of his followers had no idea – and maybe no desire – to question that. They accepted what they were taught, what they were told, as 'just the way things are, and always have been, and always will be'. 

"I'll be here Monday, though," Clarke said. "I promise." 

"I'll try," Lexa said. Two days of being constantly at her father's beck and call ought to be enough to appease him and keep him from questioning her absence the rest of the week. At least she hoped it would be. She stood up and brushed herself off, and Clarke did the same. 

"I'll miss you," Clarke said, stepping closer, and this time Lexa wasn't quite so surprised when Clarke hugged her. She even managed to lift her own arms to return the embrace gingerly, afraid she might pull her too close, hold her too tight, and not want to let go.

Clarke clearly didn't share her concerns, because the minute Lexa's hands pressed lightly against her back, her own grip tightened, and they were so close Lexa could feel Clarke's heartbeat in her chest, and her breath against the skin of her neck, and she had to let go and step back because that spark of heat in her belly turned to a burning ache, and she couldn't let it spread any farther. 

"I'll see you Monday," she whispered, a slight rasp in her voice, and took off.

* * *

Luna took one look at her and shook her head. "You're going to get yourself in trouble," she said. "You're going to get us both in trouble." 

"I won't," Lexa said, but she feared that wasn't true. Every day it became harder to quench the fire that had been lit in her mind, and in her body, or even to hide its burning. Every day she had more questions with no answers, and it was only a matter of time before she said something, or did something, that her father couldn't dismiss or ignore. She only hoped that whatever punishment her father decided to dole out wasn't more than she could handle. 

One thing she did know for sure, though: "I won't let them take you down with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder as more states send out absentee ballots/open for early voting: [I will write for votes](https://ironicsnowflake.tumblr.com/post/631276517801984000/will-write-for-votes)! (Please make sure to read the post for details, including how to participate if you're not in the US. 😊)


	5. Chapter 5

When Clarke arrived at Wells' traditional End of Summer party, she was greeted by whistles and applause. 

"She's ALIIIIIIVE!" Raven announced, holding up her arms in a V-for-victory, like she was Frankenstein celebrating the birth of her creature. 

"Ha ha," Clarke said, rolling her eyes. She knew what they were getting at – she _had_ more or less dropped off the face of the planet for the past week – but was there really a need to be so dramatic about it? It was _only_ a week, and she'd returned text messages and liked social media posts and all of the other things normal teenagers were supposed to do... eventually. Was it really such a crime to not be attached to one's phone 24/7? Lexa didn't even _have_ a phone, and she seemed like she was doing okay...

Although 'okay' was relative, because there were moments where Lexa disappeared into herself and Clarke didn't know where she went, what thoughts or memories haunted her in those moments, but when it happened, she looked anything but okay. She looked sad and lost and...

And she couldn't spend the entire day thinking about Lexa. She shouldn't think about her at all, because if she thought about her, she might talk about her, and although Lexa had never explicitly said Clarke could never talk about her, it had been strongly implied, and Clarke wasn't about to break her new friend's trust. 

"I didn't know if you were coming," Wells said. "You never RSVPed." 

"Since when do _I_ have to RSVP?" Clarke asked. "I practically grew up here!" Which was true, but also not true. It had been a while since she spent half of her waking moments here. Some of that had to do with puberty, and parents no longer being quite so sure sleepovers were a great idea, but some of it was just them growing... not apart, not exactly, but... differently. They had other friends and different interests and...

_Secret friendships with secret girls that were maybe just a little more than friendship._

But it wasn't. Not anywhere but in the deepest recesses of Clarke's heart... and a burning ember in her belly that she tried very hard not to stoke, but couldn't quite extinguish, either. She blamed hormones, and the fact that Lexa was just so damn pretty. But it would never be anything more than a silly one-sided crush and Clarke knew it. 

"Of course I'm here," Clarke said, when Wells didn't reply, and in the past she would have known exactly what he was thinking, but now she had no clue and that should bother her more than it did. She bumped her shoulder against his. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." 

_Or the girl—_

_Stop,_ she told herself. _You need to forget her. Just for today. You can manage **one day**._ Even though it had been two, with the shopping trip the day before, and...

"So what have you been up to?" Raven asked, interrupting her thoughts. "You never _call_ , you never _write_. We _worry_ , you know." 

"Okay, Grandma," Clarke said, answering Raven's grin with one of her own. "I've just been doing a lot of reading, mostly. Trying to get myself ready for next year."

"Nerd," Octavia said. "Also, lies. It's a boy, isn't it?"

"When did you all turn into a bunch of meddling relatives?" Clarke demanded, trying not to laugh. She didn't actually know what it was like to have aunts and uncles and grandparents all up in her business; both her parents were only children, and her grandparents lived far enough away that she mostly only saw them on holidays, and with her mother's job, sometimes not even then. 

"That's not a no," Octavia said, waggling her eyebrows. 

Raven snorted. "You just want to compare notes," she said. "Because of _Liiiiiincoooln._." 

Clarke was glad she didn't have to wrack her brain to place the name; Octavia talked about the boy she'd met at the camp where she'd worked for the summer constantly. Clarke wasn't sure she approved; he was going to be a sophomore in college next year and Octavia only a high school junior, and it was all well and good to say age was just a number, but the difference between 16 and almost 20 seemed pretty big to her. 

"Is he coming?" Harper asked. 

"That's what she said!" Jasper interjected, grinning and nudging anyone without reach of his elbows. 

Clarke groaned. "I'm getting in the pool," she said, half-hoping her friends wouldn't follow. She stripped down and dove in, swimming half the length of the pool underwater before surfacing... only to be slapped in the face by a giant wave as Jasper cannonballed in and his partner in crime, Monty, followed a second later. It turned into a competition to see who could make the biggest splash, and soon they were all soaked and laughing, except Raven who was grumbling about the fact that bodies flying through the air and hitting the water were too unpredictable for her to properly calculate the optimal body position, trajectory, etcetera to maximize water displacement. 

"Thanks," Clarke said, grinning at her. "With you around, I never have to worry about being the nerdiest one here." 

Raven stuck out her tongue, then tried to dunk Clarke, and everything seemed to go back to normal between them. 

The day wore on, and Lincoln did make an appearance, and once she met him Clarke felt a little better about the whole thing. He seemed to be a genuinely decent guy, and it was clear that the cared a hell of a lot about Octavia. He was pretty much the opposite of what Clarke had been picturing... which she realized belatedly had been a carbon copy of Octavia's brother, who had recently graduated and was honestly kind of an asshole, but Octavia adored him. Lincoln was pretty much his polar opposite, and Clarke breathed a sigh of relief. 

She finally went home when the sugar rush from making s'mores around the firepit started to wear off, and a day of sun and swimming and laughter caught up to her. She stifled a yawn as she said her goodbyes and slumped into the passenger's seat of her father's car when he pulled up. 

"Good day?" he asked. 

Clarke nodded and rested her head against the window... and woke up when they rolled to a stop in front of the house. She was so tired she didn't even shower, just collapsed into bed. She knew she would regret it in the morning, but right now all she wanted was sleep... and maybe a few sweet dreams about a certain girl who she hoped she would see tomorrow...

* * *

"You know these aren't the only books in the world, right?" Clarke asked, her tone gently teasing after the third time Lexa stopped her reading to ask another question about Clarke's weekend. Not that Clarke minded; she was happy to talk about the things she'd seen and done in the city, and about her friends, if that was what Lexa wanted to do. Clarke had already read the book (several times) so it didn't matter to her how quickly or slowly they reached the end; she already knew what happened. She just liked sharing it with Lexa. But if Lexa would rather talk about other things, that was okay too.

Or ask about other things, really, because Clarke was doing almost all of the talking. Lexa had talked a little about what her own life was like: cooking and cleaning and tending a garden and visiting the sick and infirm in their community with her father, sitting for hours (but maybe she was exaggerating) listening to her father and the other elders lecture about the way they ought to live and all the ways they failed to measure up (or at least that was Clarke's interpretation), visiting her friend whose name she never mentioned to help with chores and her numerous siblings. But mostly she asked questions, and Clarke answered them. 

"You said this is the last book," Lexa said. 

"In this series!" Clarke said, choking back a laugh. "And it's only the last one that's been written. _Allegedly_ the next book – which might be the last book, but I kind of hope not, even if ten would be a nice round number – will be out before Christmas, but they said that last year, too, so..." She shrugged. "But there are thousands – _millions_ \- of other books in the world. I have hundreds just in my room." She hesitated, knowing Lexa could be skittish when she suggested even the slightest deviation from their status quo, but after a moment decided it was worth the risk. "Do you want to see?"

Lexa shook her head, her eyes darting toward the house, and then toward the field that she came through to get here from her home. "No," she said, the tip of her tongue tracing her lower lip to wet it. "Let's just... let's just keep reading." 

"Okay," Clarke said. "Just know that when we finish this book... you can still keep coming. I hope you'll keep coming." She settled herself closer to Lexa than before, and Lexa let her, setting aside her knitting for the moment so her jostling elbow didn't keep Clarke at bay. Clarke could feel the tension in her, and she wished there was something she could do, something more than just reading, but as the world of the book and the characters they both loved enfolded them, she felt some of Lexa's stiffness melt away, and by the time she paused, sticking her finger between the pages of the book to hold their place, Lexa had relaxed almost completely. Maybe Clarke imagined it, but it felt like she was even leaning into Clarke just a little, their shoulders pressed together with only the thin material of Lexa's sleeve between them. 

"I should go," Lexa said softly, like Clarke knew she was going to. She'd gotten pretty good at sensing the passage of time (or maybe she'd just learned the approximate time it took to read a chapter and subconsciously did the math) and how long Lexa was able to get away for. 

"I wish you didn't have to," Clarke said. "Things were just starting to get good." She smiled, but it felt – and was – a little forced. 

"I know," Lexa said, barely a whisper, and Clarke wondered if she was just talking about the book, or if she meant something more like Clarke had meant something more. "I'll try to come back tomorrow." She stood up and brushed herself off, gathering up her needles and yarn and tucking them into her basket. She didn't pick it up right away, though. She stood with her fingers twitching at her sides, fidgeting with the folds of her skirt, like she was waiting for something, or trying to work up the nerve for something, but Clarke wasn't sure what. 

"I should go," Lexa repeated, a little more forcefully, her gaze flicking to Clarke, and when their eyes met she didn't look away. It was like a magnet, drawing Clarke in, and she marked their page and stood up, closing the distance between them until they were close enough to touch if either of them moved even a little bit. Lexa shuffled forward half a step or maybe not even that, almost like she'd tripped or been shoved, and Clarke lifted her arms to stop them from colliding but instead pulled her closer.

Clarke was just a little shorter than Lexa, so when they hugged her face naturally fit into the curve of Lexa's neck, and she breathed in the scent of her, all straw and sunshine and the faintest tang of sweat.

"Tomorrow," Lexa whispered, her breath brushing Clarke's ear, or maybe it was her lips, and she was very glad in that moment she wasn't a boy, because, well... It was bad enough her nipples made their presence known even through her bra and tank top. She hoped Lexa didn't notice. 

"Tomorrow," Clarke echoed, and slowly, reluctantly, let her go.

* * *

But she didn't show up the next day, and Clarke tried not to read too much into it, because she knew it wasn't easy for Lexa to sneak away. She told herself it didn't have anything to do with Clarke herself, that there was no way Lexa could have known how she'd reacted, and anyway, it was just bodies doing what bodies do. Even bodies that grew up in repressive religious cults (even if it was a religion no one had ever heard of and kind of seemed made up, but then weren't all religions made up, once upon a time? and even if they called it a 'community' rather than a cult) had to have... urges, right? It didn't _mean_ anything. 

When Lexa didn't show up the following day, or the one after that, though, Clarke started to think maybe it _did_ mean something. The least upsetting possibility was that Lexa just wasn't ready for the last book to end, so she was putting it off by not visiting. The worst case scenario was that she had somehow sensed Clarke's just slightly more than friendly feelings in that last embrace and wanted nothing more to do with Clarke ever again. Clarke didn't see how it could possibly be the latter, but the longer she spent sitting by herself under the tree, waiting, the harder it became to dismiss the possibility.

The worst part was she wasn't even sure if the feelings were real, or if she was just really excited about having made a new friend who loved something she loved as much as she loved it. It wasn't as if she wanted to _kiss_ Lexa—

Except maybe she did. A little. It wasn't _her_ fault Lexa was so damn pretty Clarke itched to sketch her, to capture even a fraction of her beauty on the page so she would have it look at even when Lexa wasn't around. She had the picture she'd taken of them, but there was something about the intimacy of drawing someone, of looking at them, studying them so intently over a period of time, that a quickly snapped selfie could never compare to. 

But she looked at that picture a lot anyway...

It didn't matter, though. There was no way Lexa would ever return her feelings. So Clarke stuffed them down, trying to bury them so deep they would never make their way to the surface if Lexa ever came back. 

On Friday she finally gave up. After dodging invitations from her friends all week to do this or that one last time before school started again, she got tired of coming up with excuses and agreed to meet up with Raven and Octavia to hang out. 

By the time she got home it was nearly dark, far later than Lexa had ever come or stayed, but she went out to check anyway, because even as she'd joked and laughed and had a good time with her friends, a little part of her had still been sitting under that tree, hoping her friend would come back. 

Lexa wasn't there. Clarke wasn't surprised... but she was disappointed. She turned to go back to the house when a flash of something white on the ground caught her eye. She rushed over and found a scrap of paper pinned down under a rock. She picked it up with shaking hands, her stomach swarming with butterflies.

_Dear Clarke,_

_Im sorry I missed you. Im sorry I haven't ben here the last few days. Its getting too harvist time and my mother bearly lets me out of her site. I will try to come back soon._

_I miss the story. And you._

_Your frend_

The letter was unsigned, but it was impossible not to know who it was from. Lexa was probably just being cautious in case someone other than Clarke found the note. Clarke read it again, her fingers tracing lightly over the words Lexa had so painstakingly written, then tucked it into her pocket. It would join the previous notes in the little locked box she had where she kept all of her most precious belongings. 

She wrote a note to Lexa, just in case she missed her again, and put it in a plastic baggie to keep it from being ruined by dew overnight. 

_Dear Lexa,_

_I'm sorry I missed you too. I was worried something had happened, but I'm glad to hear that you're just busy. Does harvest time mean you're out working in the fields or a garden or something? I don't know anything about farming; I can't even keep a houseplant alive._

_I go back to school next week. Junior year... but I guess that probably doesn't mean anything to you. I'll explain next time we see each other, if you want me to. Or we can just read. Whatever you want. It's probably going to make it harder to see each other, but maybe we can find a time that works for both of us. I know your life maybe isn't that predictable, though. Whatever happens, we'll figure it out, because I don't want to stop seeing you. You've been the best part of this summer, and losing you would be like... I don't know what. But it would suck._

_Just make sure that you're careful and you stay safe, because I would never want to be the cause of any pain or harm to you... or anyone else ~~, but especially you~~._

_I've included a paper and a pencil so you can write me back if you have to, but I hope to see you soon._

_~~Love,~~ Your Friend,_   
_Clarke_

* * *

In bed that night Clarke tossed and turned, fighting the urge to go running outside to retrieve the note and tear it up, or scribble half of it out and start over. She hadn't said anything she didn't mean, but she worried it was too much, that she was wearing her heart on her sleeve and Lexa would read it and run. 

She finally fell asleep maybe an hour before dawn, and by the time she woke up half the morning was gone. She was surprised neither of her parents had woken her, but maybe they'd decided to let her sleep in and enjoy the last few days of summer vacation life. Or maybe they'd both left early to do whatever it was they needed to do... because the house was empty when she dragged herself into the kitchen, still groggy, and poured herself a giant bowl of cereal. 

She carried it outside, the milk sloshing over her fingers as she tried to walk and eat at the same time. Her heart sank when she saw the note was gone, but there was nothing there to replace it. She sat down, chewing her cereal a little too violently, and flipped through the pages of the book she'd been assigned for summer reading that she'd put off until the last minute, which wasn't like her but she'd been busy lately combing her shelves for things Lexa might like to read next. 

She stayed outside until she only had a few chapters left and her stomach was complaining loudly that a bowl of cereal wasn't enough to get her through an entire day, and then she got roped into helping her father with one of his DIY projects, and then out for ice cream as a reward, with a stop at the hospital to bring her mother something to eat because it had been one crisis after another all day. When they got home Clarke showered and collapsed into bed, and was out like a light. 

In the morning, there was a jar of raspberry jam under the tree, wrapped in white paper and tied with twine.


	6. Chapter 6

Lexa picked bits of dried grass from her skirt, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. It had been a risk, racing across the field just to see if Clarke had gotten her note and if she'd responded, and to leave a gift for her behind since she didn't know when she might see her again. It had been almost a week, and every day it got harder to keep her thoughts on what she was supposed to be doing and not let them stray to Clarke and what she might be doing, and who she might be doing it with.

Heat rose to her face at the thought, and not just from the exertion. She held one hand under the pump, then the other, letting the cold water flow over them and then pressed them to her cheeks, feeling droplets trickle down her wrists and soak into her sleeves. 

It didn't matter. She would have to change before Gathering anyway. She slid the bucket under the spout and pumped, glad she'd remembered to grab it as the sun was just starting to lighten the horizon, on her way out to make a mad dash to Clarke's and back. With any luck, she wouldn't need the cover.

She edged open the door and stepped inside, trying to keep her tread light and avoid the boards that had loosened over the years and would let out ear-splitting creaks in the stillness of the morning. She lugged the bucket to the sink where they would use it later to clean the dishes.

"Where have you been, daughter?" her father asked, and Lexa only barely managed not to spill the bucket as she fought the urge to whirl around to face him. She hadn't seen him or heard him approach, which meant he'd been watching her, or...

... or maybe not. Maybe he'd only just come down. Maybe he'd only seen her at the pump. Maybe...

"I went to get water," she said, keeping her tone as even as she could. "I thought I would get breakfast started." She looked over her shoulder at him, resisting the urge to smile because he was so suspicious and dour he would almost certainly take it as a sign that she was hiding something. Which she was. 

"Will you burn it again?" he asked. 

Lexa winced, and cast her eyes down. Her mother had set her to baking biscuits the day before, and Lexa had let her mind wander while she waited for them to cook. She'd thought it had only been for a minute or two, but when she'd emerged from her daydreams it was to discover that the bottoms of the biscuits had blackened and weren't fit for anything but food for the pigs. "No, Father," she said. 

"Did you think your mother wouldn't tell me?" he asked, taking a step closer. "Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

Lexa swallowed, but didn't say anything because there was no right answer. 

"You must do better," he said, looming over her now. "You must be above reproach." 

It didn't feel like they were talking about biscuits anymore, and Lexa felt tears pricking her eyes and goosebumps racing over her skin. 

"Yes, Father," Lexa whispered. "It won't happen again." 

"I know it won't," he said, his tone softening, and his hand came up to rest on her head, which she kept bowed. She hoped he couldn't feel her trembling. He let it linger there for a moment too long, making sure she felt the weight of it pressing down, crushing her just a little more, shrinking her spirit so it fit into the shape he believed it should be. 

Finally, when she thought she couldn't stand it any longer, he let his hand drop and stepped away. "Make sure you're ready on time today. It won't go unnoticed if you're late." 

As if she was ever late to Gathering. As if she could be. But she nodded and got busy with breakfast, giving it her undivided attention so there would be nothing for her father to find fault with. When her mother came down, she seemed surprised to see how much Lexa had already accomplished. She rewarded her with one of her incredibly rare smiles. (Lexa imagined there wasn't much to smile about, being married to her father.) They finished up together, and when the three of them sat down, her father pronounced the meal perfect.

Lexa wondered if he could taste that it had been salted with her tears.

* * *

The message that day was about the importance of duty and diligence, and Lexa couldn't help thinking that every word of it was directed toward her. She kept her back straight and her eyes down, even as the words burrowed under her skin, burning their way through to her heart, where they certainly ignited something, but she doubted it was what her father had hoped for. By the time he finished, she was incandescent with rage she had no outlet for. 

Luna's fingers brushed the back of her hand as they filed through the door together, but when Lexa looked at her she visibly recoiled. She caught Lexa's sleeve and dragged her out of the flow of people. "Whatever you're feeling, you need to bury it," she hissed. "Now isn't the time."

"There's _never_ a time," Lexa hissed back. "When will there ever be a time?"

Luna frowned, her eyes darting back and forth before she leaned in closer. "What would Mara do?" she asked. "Or Amelia? If the King—" She broke off as one of her brothers came up, whining about something. Luna brushed him off, her fingers still locked around Lexa's wrist, but she'd lost her train of thought.

It didn't matter. Lexa knew what she was saying, and she sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Luna looked at her, and after a moment and another few deep breaths on Lexa's part, she nodded. "Better," she said. "Come on."

The post-Gathering meal they shared as a community was one of the things Lexa liked about her home. Everyone got together and brought a dish to contribute and they got to talk and visit and make plans for the week, figuring out who might need extra help with whatever task dominated the season, and who was free to lend them a hand. Sometimes Lexa was able to escape her father's orbit and sit and talk with her friends, but not today. She parted ways with Luna reluctantly and stationed herself at her mother's side as she helped dole out food to the men and boys first, leaving the women and girls with whatever was left. Thankfully, most of the women knew to prepare enough to feed an army, and even whoever had the misfortune to be last in line (and it was frequently Lexa because she had to do her duty as their leader's daughter) didn't go hungry. 

That night her father made a point of reminding her – again – of her duty to home and family. She nodded and nodded until it felt like her head might come loose from her neck. She retreated to bed as soon as she could, curling up with only the glow of the moon through her window to light the page as she read Clarke's note over and over until she fell asleep.

* * *

When she woke up in the morning, her father was already gone, called away not just to one of the of other families in their community, but to another community like it many miles away. He would be gone all day, her mother said, and perhaps even overnight. Lexa thought she might have heard just a faint sigh of relief in her mother's tone; when her father wasn't there they could both breathe easier. 

"Will you be all right on your own for the day? You know Mrs. Weaver's just had another baby and she's having a hard time of it. I thought I would go lend a hand." 

"Of course," Lexa said, hoping the sudden rush of excitement that flooded her didn't come through in her voice. "Please give her my regards." 

Her mother looked at her, her eyes narrowing slightly. It hadn't been a strange thing for Lexa to say, had it? There was nothing suspicious about wishing someone who was ailing well. It was one of her duties as the Flamekeeper's daughter, to care about and look out for the wellbeing of others. "You could come along, if you like," she said. 

Lexa's heart leapt to her throat and her mouth went suddenly dry. "I don't think I should," she said. "There's still so much to do here."

"That's true enough," her mother said. "Your father—" She stopped, because she wouldn't – couldn't – speak ill of him, no matter what. "Make sure you get everything done before you go off anywhere," she said. "It's fine and good to want to help others, but you must always attend to your own home and family first." 

Lexa didn't point out that her mother was doing exactly the opposite; it was one of those bits of hypocrisy that would get waved away with a, 'Do as I say, not as I do,' and anyway, she wanted her mother to go. The sooner she left, the sooner Lexa would be free. 

"I'll try to be home for supper," her mother said, gathering up a basket of food and supplies Mrs. Weaver might be needing. "If I'm not, make sure you have something ready for your father, just in case."

"Yes, Mother," Lexa said. 

"Good girl." She stopped at the door and favored Lexa with a smile. "It's important you learn these things now," she said. "You'll be running your own household soon enough." With a last long look that Lexa tried not to squirm under, she stepped through the door and was gone.

Lexa shook herself like a dog ridding its coat of water, wanting to tear off her cap and dress and her skin while she was at it, because none of it fit her at all. Tears welled in her eyes but she blinked them away and got to work, racing through her chores haphazardly, her eyes flicking to the sky so often there wasn't even a hint of movement between one look and the next. When the garden was weeded and the vegetables harvested, the breakfast dishes washed and dried and put away, the table scrubbed and the floor swept and the beds made and the rugs beaten... when the list that never really ended was as done as it was ever going to be, she packed her own little basket and made a beeline for the back field that would take her to Clarke.

The closer she got, the harder her heart pounded, and not just from running. What if she wasn't there? Clarke had said she would be going back to school soon, but she'd never given Lexa a specific date. What if it was today? What if the best chance they'd ever had to see each other for as long as they liked (or nearly – Lexa didn't think she would ever get to stay with Clarke for as long as she wanted) amounted to nothing? 

Lexa slowed at the fence, clambering over carefully so she didn't accidentally catch her skirt on a splinter or a loose nail and tear it, and dropped down into Clarke's orchard, her eyes darting from the house to the trees and back again as she tried to stay out of sight. 

When she got to the tree where they usually met, there was nothing and no one there. Lexa looked around, thinking maybe she'd somehow picked the wrong tree, but no, she had it right. There was no book, no note, and most certainly no Clarke, and she thought she might dissolve into tears after all.

For a second she was tempted to approach the house, perhaps peer in the windows until she discovered which was Clarke's – she said she had hundreds of books in it so it would be easy to pick out – and see if she was home. It was (marginally) safer than going up to the door, anyway. But her nerves failed her, and instead she settled on the ground, fishing a bit of patchwork from her basket to work on while she waited. She hoped it wouldn't be in vain. 

"Lexa!"

Lexa's head snapped up, and she winced as her needle jabbed into her finger. She set the stitching aside, shoving her finger into her mouth so she wouldn't bleed on herself as she leapt to her feet and collapsed into Clarke's embrace. 

"You're hurt," Clarke said, her tone almost an accusation. "You shouldn't put cuts in your mouth; there's more germs there than just about anywhere else in your body." She looked at Lexa, the corner of her mouth quirking. "But I do it too," she added in a conspiratorial whisper. "I think it's just instinct, you know? But I'll go get some peroxide and a bandage. We'll get you fixed up." She retreated to the house, and when she came jogging back, Lexa tried not to stare. When Clarke held out her hand, Lexa put her own into it, and watched as Clarke cleaned the tiny prick of a wound and wrapped it tenderly in a sticky bandage. She only looked away when Clarke brought it to lips and pressed a kiss to it, her cheeks flaming. 

"I brought bread," Lexa said, her voice gone rough and a little squeaky. "Butter, cheese... real cheese, not that stuff you gave me. I thought it might go with the raspberry jam..." She trailed off. "If you're hungry," she added belatedly. 

"I'm always hungry," Clarke said. "You think you get a body like this by passing up food when it's offered?" She pushed out her chest and ran her hands down her sides to her hips, grinning. 

Lexa was glad she hadn't actually been eating, because she would certainly have choked. 

"I'll get them," Clarke said. "And some water. Or lemonade – the real stuff, not from a mix – if you'd rather?" When Lexa didn't answer, she shrugged. "I'll get both. Be right back. Again." She gathered up the medical supplies and came back with food, and a blanket to spread out underneath them. Lexa spread out their mini picnic and they dug in. 

When their bellies were full, Clarke sprawled out in a sunbeam like one of the barn cats, shading her eyes to look at Lexa. "I go back to school tomorrow," she said. "So we might want to try to finish the book today." She sounded a little mournful, and it might just have been about finishing the story, but Lexa thought – hoped – that it might also have been a little bit about her, too. 

Lexa nodded, and after a moment, laid down next to Clarke, close enough to touch her but not quite letting herself, and let the words flow over her, closing her eyes to better imagine the story unfolding... and also to keep herself from staring and starting to imagine... other things. 

Impossible things. 

_Wrong_ things. 

Lexa shivered, and Clarke paused, then shifted closer to her like she thought Lexa had taken a chill and needed Clarke to warm her, even though it was almost the exact opposite that was true. Lexa knew she ought to move away again, but she didn't. She let Clarke's shoulder press into hers, their arms brushing against each other where they were trapped between their bodies. When they reached a particularly exciting part, Clarke grabbed Lexa's hand, lacing their fingers together... only to realize a moment later that she couldn't turn the page. So Lexa reached over and did it for her, and felt herself flush all over at Clarke's little answering smile. So she kept doing it, until there were no more pages to turn.

Lexa blinked, her fingers scrabbling to find the pages she'd missed, because surely there had to be more. The story couldn't just _stop_ like that, with everything up in the air (quite literally, for one of their intrepid heroines) and nothing resolved. "That's _it_?" she demanded, her voice an indignant squawk. 

"I _know_ ," Clarke groaned. She set the book aside and rolled to face Lexa, removing her hand form Lexa's grip to curl under her head like a pillow. "At least the next book is supposed to come out in a few months so you won't have to wait _too_ long. I've been dangling off that cliff for _years_." 

"You mean Imogen...?" She hadn't been dangling off a cliff, exactly, but one false step...

Clarke laughed. "It's what they call it when an author... or a TV show or I guess any kind of narrative... ends with no real resolution: a cliffhanger."

"Oh," Lexa said, ducking her head. She hadn't known. 

"If it really does come out before Christmas like it's supposed to, I'll buy you your own copy," Clarke said. "As a gift." She frowned. "Do you celebrate—" She stopped, biting her lip. "Sorry. No questions." 

"It's all right," Lexa said. "We don't celebrate Christmas. We don't celebrate much of anything." 

Clarke wrinkled her nose. "What about birthdays?" she asked. 

Lexa shook her head.

"But you know when yours is, don't you?" Clarke asked. "You have to know when it is."

Lexa frowned. Why did she have to know? What did it matter? It was just a day, and on that day you were one day older than you had been the day before, same as any other day. It wasn't anything to celebrate. 

Clarke's eyes were stormy. "Fine," she said. "Then you can share mine. It's October 24, so not exactly soon, but not too far, either. I'll be sixteen. Do you..." She swallowed. "Do you even know how old you are?"

_Not old enough to marry off yet,_ Lexa thought, _but I will be soon enough._ The thought made her blood run cold, and she sat up, removing herself from the bubble of Clarke's aura. She hugged her knees to her chest, making sure her skirt was smoothed over her legs so nothing showed. "Can we talk about something else?" she asked. 

Clarke sat up too, and draped her arms around Lexa, resting her cheek against her shoulder, and Lexa felt her nod. "Do you have to leave soon?" she asked. 

Lexa's gaze flicked to the sky. "Not quite yet," she said. "My parents are away, so I just have to be home in time to make supper... even though it might just be for myself. I can stay a little longer."

Clarke's expression lightened like the sky clearing after a storm, and she gave Lexa another squeeze before letting go. "Can I..." Her cheeks grew pink. "Can I draw you? I've tried from memory, and from the picture I took, but..." She shrugged. "You don't have to let me if you don't want to," she added hastily. "I just... like to draw things that I lo—care about." 

It was a bad idea. If Clarke drew her, someone might see the drawing and ask questions, and there was no way for that to end well for either one of them. But she looked so hopeful, and if Lexa made her promise to hide it and never show anyone, to just keep it for herself...

"Okay," Lexa said. "If you really want to."

Clarke bounced up and raced to the house again, returning a few minutes later with a big pad of paper and a bundle of pencils and a little tin the contents of which were a mystery to Lexa. She told Lexa to find a comfortable position, and offered her the book if she wanted to go back and reread her favorite parts, but Lexa opted for her patchwork instead because she didn't want her own stumbling internal voice to overwrite the sound of Clarke's so deftly stringing one word after another, which she replayed in her head at night to lull herself to sleep.

She tried not to move too much, not sure how still Clarke needed her to be or how long it would take. She was on her last seam when Clarke tossed her pencil aside and held up the paper in triumph. "Done!" she said. "Do you want to see?"

Lexa nodded, her stomach filled with butterflies. There wasn't much art in her world, and certainly no one had ever drawn a picture of her before. What would it be like, to see herself not in a mirror, but through someone else's eyes? Through _Clarke's_ eyes? 

Clarke scooted over, pressing herself against Lexa's side, and slid the tablet into her lap. 

Lexa opened her eyes, not conscious of the fact that she'd closed them, and found herself staring at... herself? The girl on the page certainly looked like Lexa, with her cap and shapeless dress. But instead of a needle and thread, Clarke had drawn her with a book in her hands and a smile on her face, and that made her somehow... more. The girl on the page felt like someone with hope. Someone with possibilities. Someone whose future hadn't already been written for her, even before she was born. 

It was the most beautiful lie she'd ever seen. 

She ripped the page from the book and tore it in two.


	7. Chapter 7

Clarke had been focused on Lexa's face when she handed over the sketchbook. She'd watched as her expression had shifted from wonder to despair and finally to anger, and she didn't know what she'd done wrong. The drawing had been a little rushed – certainly not her best work – and she'd taken a few liberties with Lexa's expression, erasing the crease of concentration from her brow and replacing it with the soft, dreamy smile Clarke had caught out of the corner of her eye more than once when Lexa had gotten completely caught up in the story, but she hadn't thought it was _that_ bad. 

So when she heard the sound of the page being ripped from the pad and torn in two, it felt a little like her heart had been torn along with it... and the feeling only worsened when she saw tears well up in Lexa's eyes, like she regretted it as soon as the deed was done.

"It's okay," Clarke said, extending a hand to take back what was left. "I can—" 

Lexa jerked away like she thought Clarke was going to grab her, hit her, hurt her, and Clarke pulled back, holding her hands up in surrender to show she was harmless, even as fury sparked in her at anyone who had ever dared lay a hand on Lexa, or even threaten to, to make her flinch like that. 

" _Yu nou get ai in!_ " Lexa snapped. 

Clarke blinked. The words were all English – You no get I in – but the order didn't make sense and the meaning was lost. And the way they were rapped out, a harsh staccato like gunfire – or like Clarke imagined gunfire, as her only experience with the sound was from movies – didn't sound like Lexa at all. Not the Lexa she knew. And the girl standing – when had she stood? – in front of her, looming over her, wasn't the Lexa she knew, either. She was someone else. Someone hunted and haunted and not at all the soft, gentle, curious, brilliant girl who made Clarke's heart skip a beat every time she caught her eye, or brushed her skin, or—

"I don't understand," Clarke whispered. 

"Exactly," Lexa said, and her voice had gone back to normal, or at least close enough to it that it lulled Clarke into a false sense of security. "You don't understand. You can't." Her shoulders slumped, but she forced them back, forced herself to straighten and look down at Clarke, who belatedly scrambled to her feet. "It's time for me to go."

"Oh," Clarke said, relief warring with dread. "Should I get you another book to take with you? Since I might not—" She stopped as Lexa shook her head. 

"No," Lexa said. "Thank you. We finished, and I thank you for sharing the story with me. But it's..." She shook her head, glancing upward and blinking rapidly for a second. When she looked back at Clarke, her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. "You're going back to school. Back to your friends. It's time for me to go back to real life, too." 

"This isn't real life?" Clarke asked. It had felt – did feel – pretty damn real to her. School and her friends and extracurricular activities and the PSATs and everything else was what felt like a dream these days. 

"No," Lexa said again. "It's not." 

Clarke waited for Lexa to elaborate, but she didn't. She just tucked her sewing away and looped her arm through the handle of the basket. "School takes up a lot of my time," Clarke said – she wasn't about to lie about it, "but we can still find time to meet up. I can give you books and you can read them and then we can talk about them. Like a book club! Maybe we can come up with some kind of signaling system so—"

Lexa was shaking her head again. "It's not a good idea," she said. "I've been... reckless this summer. I've let myself become consumed with... with _unreality_ and I've ignored my duty to my family and my people. It hasn't gone unnoticed, and it's not a risk I can take anymore." She swallowed, sniffed, and met Clarke's eyes. "I'm sorry, Clarke."

_No,_ Clarke thought. _No, you can't do this._ But of course she could. Lexa could easily walk away and never return, and what could Clarke do about it? Go charging across the field and call Lexa's name until she appeared at a window or a door? What would happen then? 

"It's better this way," Lexa added. "We can both focus on our futures." 

Her voice broke on the last word, her eyes unfocused like she couldn't bear to look at Clarke anymore, and Clarke knew she didn't want to be saying the words any more than Clarke wanted to hear them. But Clarke didn't know what to say to sway her, to convince Lexa that they could make this work somehow, that their futures could include each other. 

That she didn't want to imagine a future without Lexa in it. Which was probably silly – she'd gotten along fine before her – but it didn't change how Clarke felt. Lexa had changed her world just as she knew she'd changed Lexa's. Maybe not as drastically, but she'd changed it nonetheless, and there was no going back.

Clarke didn't want to go back. 

And she sure as hell didn't want Lexa to go back to a world that so obviously wanted to keep her contained, keep her small and dull and obedient, when she had the potential to be so much more. Lexa could be so much greater and brighter, could be everything Clarke's parents had always told her she could be if she just put her heart and mind to it, if she was given the chance. 

If she gave herself the chance. 

If Clarke let her go now, with nothing but a summer's worth of memories that could be twisted and bent and stuffed into a drawer in the darkest recesses of her mind, rarely or never taken out and dusted off, Lexa might never become who she was meant to be. 

Clarke opened her mouth, then closed it again, words failing her. She looked around like she might find the right ones written somewhere – in the bark of the tree or on the undersides of its leaves or in the stripes on the blanket they'd not so long ago been sprawled on side-by-side and hand-in-hand – and landed on the book. She snatched it up and held it out. "At least take this," she said. "To—to remember. Or... no. Wait. Wait." She made a motion like you might at a dog you wanted to stay. "I'll be right back." 

Clarke had lost track of the number of times she had run back to the house, but this time she actually ran, nearly tripping over her own feet as she tried to keep an eye on Lexa over her shoulder, sure that she would disappear as soon as Clarke took her eyes off of her, and then what? Would Clarke chase her? Or would she let her go?

Did she really have a choice?

She dashed into her room and grabbed the first book of the series from her bookshelf without looking, having reached for it so many times its location had become muscle memory. She hesitated for just a second, thinking maybe she ought to give Lexa the nice, new copy... but no. This was the copy that had started it all for both of them. If she was going to give Lexa a gift to remember her by... and maybe to make her reconsider her decision... it had to be this. 

She crossed her arms over her chest to try to still the painful bouncing as she sprinted back, nearly sobbing with relief to find Lexa hadn't left after all, and thrust the book breathlessly into Lexa's hands. "For you," she panted. "You need it... more... than I do. You—"

"I can't take this," Lexa whispered, pushing it back into Clarke's hands. "It's yours. You—"

"I want you to have it," Clarke insisted. "Please."

Lexa shook her head again, harder this time. "Clarke, I _can't_. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I can't. It's—" Again, her gaze strayed upward, her chest hitching as she fought back tears. "It's impossible," she said finally. "This... it's impossible. I thought..." She sighed and seemed to shrink right in front of Clarke's eyes. "It doesn't matter what I thought," she said. "It only matters what's true."

Clarke could see there was no use in arguing with her. Lexa had given in. Given up. Resigned herself to whatever life had been chosen for her.

Clarke didn't know whether to scream or cry. She would probably do both as soon as Lexa turned her back and disappeared into the grasses of the field. Clarke picked up a pencil from the blanket and flipped open the cover, scribbling a note:

_For Lexa –_

_Never forget that there is more to life than what you can see, if you dare to let yourself dream. This is only the beginning._

_Love,_   
_Clarke_

She handed the book to Lexa, whose fingers only closed around it when Clarke let go and it started to topple toward the grass. Lexa flipped open the cover with shaking hands and read the words Clarke had written there. Then read them again, and then a third time, before she looked up at Clarke with overflowing eyes. 

"It's yours now," Clarke whispered. "Even if you can't take it with you... it's yours. I'll keep it safe for you until you're ready." She held out her hand to take the book back, but instead found herself wrapped in Lexa's arms, her cheek pressed against her ear and the scratchy stiff material of the cap she wore, tickled by the tendrils of hair that had escaped its confines. 

Clarke hugged her back, holding her so tight she couldn't tell whose heartbeat was whose anymore, and she let a few of her own tears escape to soak into the material, softening the stiff starch. Words rose in her throat and she had to choke them back to keep them from escaping and sending Lexa running once and for all. 

She wasn't sure how long they held on to each other, but it was longer than Lexa had ever allowed before. When they finally pulled apart, they were both red-nosed and sniffling. Clarke bit her lip, and then her tongue, but the question she always wanted to ask but had never allowed herself before pushed itself out into the still small space between them anyway: "Promise you'll come back?"

Lexa shook her head. "I can't promise that," she said. 

Clarke sucked back a fresh wave of tears. "Promise you'll try?"

Lexa let out a soft, shuddering breath and slowly... so slowly... nodded. "I promise I'll try." 

"Thank you," Clarke said. 

Lexa nodded again, and turned to go, but Clarke didn't – couldn't – let go of her hand. After a moment, Lexa's fingers tightened around Clarke's, and she allowed Clarke to walk with her to the fence, to keep hold of her even as she climbed over and even after. She didn't stop walking, just let their arms stretch between them until they were clinging only with their fingertips... and then she was gone. 

Clarke turned away so she didn't have to watch her disappear.

* * *

"You look like shit," Raven announced the next morning. 

"Wow, Raven," Octavia said, smothering a laugh. "Why don't you tell us how you really feel?"

"Ignore her," Wells said, leaning against the locker next to Clarke's. "You look great."

Clarke snorted. "I don't," she said. "But thanks." She'd barely slept the night before, and she'd spent longer than she cared to admit that morning applying makeup to try to cover up the lingering redness of her nose and the bags under her eyes. 

"Everything okay?" Wells asked. 

"Just had trouble sleeping," Clarke said. "First day jitters, I guess." 

"What do you have to be jittery about, Curvebreaker?" Octavia teased, although there was a little bit of bite to the words. Clarke didn't think many teachers graded on a curve, at least not in their school, and she and Octavia had few, if any, classes together. Clarke had all Honors and AP classes, and while Octavia was smart, that didn't always show in her schoolwork. Add to that the fact that Octavia's mom couldn't afford the fees associated with AP testing, and they rarely crossed paths, except in gym (where Octavia could run rings around Clarke no matter what sport they were playing) and the cafeteria.

Clarke shrugged it off, literally and figuratively. "The first day of school is like nerd Christmas," she said. "All the new notebooks just waiting to be filled with color-coded—"

"Ugh, stop," Octavia said. "No nerdgasms this early in the morning. I haven't even had my coffee."

"I thought you hated coffee," Wells said. 

"That's Raven," Octavia said. "And it's not that she hates it, it's that it makes her mind race even more than usual, and _we_ hate her on it. Try to keep up." She grinned. 

"Ooh, coffee," Raven said, her eyes lighting up, her expression slightly maniacal before she laughed at their horrified expressions. "Oh, calm down," she said. "I wouldn't do that to y'all. Or me."

"Did you just say 'y'all'? Octavia asked.

"Ironically," Raven said. "Anyway, it's a useful word! Other languages have a word for plural you, why not English?" 

Clarke left them to their debate, staring into the depths of her empty locker. 

"Are you sure you're all right?" Wells asked. "You seem... lost?"

Clarke looked at him and forced a smile. She wasn't all right, but she couldn't tell him why. What would she say? 'I think I might have a crush on a girl from that cult that lives on the outskirts of town that we mostly all try to pretend doesn't exist'? Not that they were a cult, exactly. At least probably not. But 'cult' had a more dramatic ring to it than 'religious sect', and Clarke was feeling dramatic. 

And who did she think she was fooling with 'I think I might'. There was no 'might' about it. She _definitely_ had a crush on Lexa. That had become very clear to her as they'd clung to each other the day before, her body reacting in physically and emotionally uncomfortable ways to all the parts of Lexa that had pressed against Clarke that Lexa's baggy dresses gave no hint of. Clarke had taped the drawing Lexa had torn back together and stared at it for hours, until her eyelids had finally grown too heavy to keep open. She'd tucked it away in the tiny lockbox she kept stashed in the back corner of her closet before school, not wanting to risk one of her parents finding it and asking questions, but it was emblazoned in her mind's eye like the afterimage of a camera flash, waiting for her every time she blinked.

"I'll be okay," she said. "Just need to get through today and get back in the swing of things." _And hope I manage to sleep tonight..._

* * *

The day dragged. Clarke tried to pay attention to her teachers, but 99% of what they said went in one ear and out the other, and the only way she knew which class she had sat through was by checking the cover of the textbook she'd been handed. She dropped into her seat in the cafeteria with a thud and pulled her lunch from her bag, laying it out in front of her even though she was the kind of queasy that might be made better with food, but it might be made worse.

Her dad had packed her lunch for her that morning – something she'd long since grown out of needing done, but sometimes he got nostalgic for the 'good old days' and got to it before she did – and she found herself swiping at her eyes with the napkin he'd tucked in as she looked at it.

A chair screeched across from her, jerking her back into reality. "Are you crying over string cheese?" Raven asked. 

"No," Clarke said. 

"Are you sure?" Raven asked. "Because it really kind of looks like you're crying over string cheese."

"I'm _not_ crying over string cheese," Clarke insisted. _I'm crying over the fact that I may never get to see Lexa's horrified expression at the mere idea of string cheese again. And raspberry jam. I'm crying over raspberry jam that was gifted to me by a girl that I want to give the whole world – all the worlds – to, who might have walked out of my life forever yesterday._

Because yes, Lexa had promised she would try to come back, but what did that really mean? _Do, or do not. There is no try._ Lexa could show up once, find Clarke not there, and never come back, and Clarke couldn't say she hadn't tried. 

"If it makes you that sad, I'll eat it for you," Raven said. 

Clarke handed it over. She wasn't sure she could have choked it down anyway, and Raven didn't have a lunch, and her mother had probably forgotten to fill out the paperwork for free lunch. Raven would get it sorted out within a few days – she was a master at forging her mom's signature by now – but that didn't help her today. Clarke silently divided her lunch in half, sliding it across the table to Raven, who for once didn't argue. She just ate, and Clarke tried to do the same. 

When Clarke went got to her locker at the end of the day to drop off the books she didn't need to bring home (which was less than half of them, because the majority of her teachers were sadists who assigned homework on the first day of school) she found a note had been shoved through the slats. She could tell by the way it was folded it was from Wells, and she'd probably been meant to find it earlier. She shoved it in her pocket to read later, because its contents didn't matter.

It had given her an idea.

* * *

"You want to what?" her father asked. 

"Build a mailbox," Clarke said. "Or like... a little locker." 

It was a gamble, getting her father involved, because he was bound to ask questions she wouldn't be able to answer. But she didn't have the skills to do it herself, or the tools, and she needed this to work. More than she'd ever needed anything in her life, she needed this to work. 

"Dare I ask why?" her father asked. 

"It's a present for a friend," Clarke said. 

He raised an eyebrow. "... Right," he said. Clarke braced herself for more questions, like, 'What friend?' or, 'What do they need a mailbox for?' He scrutinized her face like he had a special kind of x-ray vision that would allow him to see straight into her brain, and she tried to keep her expression neutral. _Move along, nothing to see here._ After a moment he either gave up or had seen all he needed to see and decided to go with it... at least for now. "Do you have a drawing of what you have in mind?"

Clarke showed him the sketch she'd done (after confirming Lexa wasn't waiting for her; her math homework could wait) and he asked a few questions, then began drawing up a plan for how many pieces of wood they would need to cut and how to fit everything together to achieve the desired result. 

"It's your gift," he said, looking back at her as he headed for the garage. "I'm not doing all the work."

"I'm not asking you to," Clarke said, and followed him out. 

Luckily, he already had everything they would need on hand so they could get to work right away. Clarke did the measuring while her father did the cutting, and then he showed her how to use a power drill to start putting the pieces together. They weren't finished when her mom got home, looking slightly peeved that they hadn't started dinner even though she was late, and the decision was made to celebrate the first day of school with pizza, which gave them a little more time to work before it arrived. 

"We can finish tomorrow," her dad said when the smell of cheese and pepperoni wafted in from the kitchen. 

"But—" Clarke stopped herself. "Okay," she said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, slinging his arm around her shoulder and leading her inside. "It's nice to have you actually _want_ to spend time with your dear old dad. I feel like I've hardly seen you these past few months." 

It was an exaggeration, but maybe not as much of one as in past summers. She hoped he just chalked it up to her growing up and asserting her independence, rather than the possibility of her living a secret life out at the end of the old orchard. 

After they'd eaten she showered and forced herself to focus on the assignments she'd been given even though all she wanted to do was drag her dad back out to the garage to finish what they'd started. Tomorrow would have to be soon enough... and she would have to accept sooner or later that her life couldn't revolve entirely around Lexa anymore. She scowled at the fresh blank page of her notebook and got to work, just barely finishing the last equation before sleep dragged her down.


End file.
